The Silver Lining
by Anna Greenway
Summary: When a freak accident leaves the team trapped in a parallel universe, the team must band together to survive. They must fight to take care of themselves, to preserve their relationships, and above all else, to make sense of what life really means in the first place. Set in early season 8, GSR, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**The Silver Lining**

_by Anna Greenway._

**Rating: **Have rated the story as M, just to be safe. This is for sex and other adult themes which will arise. Not recommended for anyone under 15.

**A/N: **Yes, this story features a parallel universe. Yes, I've probably been watching too much Stargate (LOL). But some ideas are too good to cast aside, and this is one of them. Story will feature GSR, and possibly Cath/Warrick and SoNic, but I make no promises over those. It's primarily a story about the Grissom/Sara relationship, about the friendship between the team, and about the meaning of life itself.

* * *

_Prologue_

In the end, when Sara thought back to the early days of her life with Grissom, she thought often of that first time she had slept with him. How the hot morning sun had streamed in through the kitchen windows, the way her heart flip-flopped as he kissed her for the first time. It had not been expected – his invitation to a post-shift breakfast at his place had seemed as innocent as she knew it was to the rest of the team – but two days after Nick's kidnapping, it seemed something had finally changed. Kissed her he did, and after spending a few minutes deliciously pinned between him and the kitchen bench, returning his kisses with fervour, it had seemed natural to move things into his bedroom.

It had taken him five years to decide to kiss her, and no time at all for him to decide that he couldn't stop there.

She had never before understood the difference between having sex and making love, but she learned it that morning with Grissom. While her past boyfriends had tugged her clothes off and passionately had their way with her, Grissom did everything with a tenderness that made her dizzy in the haze of his love. While he kissed her deeply and held her close, his hands on her were gentle, removing her clothes with care, glancing into her eyes for permission. And when he laid her down in his bed, kissing her hungrily, he even paused between kisses to adjust the pillow an inch to make her more comfortable. The gesture only made her kiss him harder, and by the time she spread her legs and let him enter her – hard and full – she knew she could not hold on much longer.

Later that afternoon, she drifted back awake with a feeling of pleasant contentment. The day had heated up, the scorching Nevadan sun outside glowing hot through the blinds, and the sheet covering her had slipped to her waist. She lay on her back, chest bare, and turning to look for Grissom, found him gazing intently back at her, perched up on one arm.

He looked as if he had been watching her for some time.

She smiled. "Hey."

"Hey," he replied.

He was as naked as she was, and reached out one hand, tucking her hair back behind her ear. Behind him on the bedside table, she spotted a discarded condom wrapper. The digital clock told her it was late afternoon.

"Were you watching me sleep?" she asked, curious.

He did not answer, but let his fingers fall from her hair to her torso. They traced a path just underneath her breasts, intimate, and yet not quite touching.

"You're perfect," he replied, matter-of-fact.

She smiled wider, and leaned up to kiss him. They had ended up making love again.

Thereafter, she had spent many lazy afternoons with him, squeezing in the time between the chaos of their Vegas lives. The relationship was probably not what most people considered normal, and yet she could not have cared less. They were happy, and as the months passed she began to see the subtle changes which told her their relationship had progressed. For one thing, she began to realise how much money they were spending on condoms, and after making a quip that they should take out shares in the company, they had decided that she would go on the pill. Not too long after, she had walked in to his bedroom one day to find him emptying out a drawer – piling old pairs of socks and underwear aside on his bed, before offering it to her to use. Sometime after that, half of her clothes had ended up at his place, and her underwear had become a regular part of his laundry load. When she spotted him one Sunday neatly folding her lingerie and ironing her work blouse, she knew they had made it.

And yet more joyful still was the feeling of learning about him, and the physical aspects of their relationship. She learned that his favourite part of her was her breasts, that his prime time for sex was on hot summer afternoons, and best of all – that he liked being teased. With her past boyfriends, she had resented being reduced to a sex object, and had never walked around naked or in her underwear for their enjoyment. And yet with Grissom, who loved her for all she was, that feeling had evaporated. She felt a cheeky delight in teasing him, in testing what he would do. One warm afternoon, when he had been settled on the couch doing a crossword in a pair of old sweat pants and a college t-shirt, she had walked innocently to the fridge in her underwear, feigning innocence as she searched for some fruit juice.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him still, removing his glasses.

She poured a drink as she watched him ponder it over. After several attempts at speech, his eventual words made her smile.

"Aren't you cold?" he asked.

She grinned. "I'm fine."

His eyes did not leave her, and she saw them move downward.

"You want some?" she asked.

He stared.

"Some juice," she clarified, waving at the bottle.

"No," he replied. "Thanks, I'm fine."

She downed her juice, and then, rubbing her arms in a feigned moment of slight chill, said, "You know I think the temperature is dropping. I'll be back in a sec'."

She made to head for the bedroom to find clothes, but got barely two steps before Grissom laid his crossword aside, getting to his feet.

"I'll turn up the thermostat," he said.

She struggled to stifle a grin as he ramped up the central heating. Not long later, they were both naked again, and she discovered the true depth of his desire for her with a new position and a desperate, hurried passion that had made her smile with the memory for months afterward.

Another summer later, and she found herself engaged after his spontaneous proposal in front of his bee hives. Many things had changed – she had gone through the trauma of her desert abduction and near death, had been moved from grave to swing shift, and yet she felt more stable in their relationship than ever before. In hindsight, it was perhaps strange that they had not discussed it more. It had been so sudden that she felt as if she needed time to absorb it all, the thousand thoughts and implications fluttering around like a hive inside her head. It meant meeting his family, moving in permanently with him, formalising everything in front of all their friends and acquaintances. She would have to choose a bride's maid, and Grissom a best man. The thought of a huge sappy white wedding had never appealed to her, but she felt warm about the idea of a small gathering with their friends – as long as Ecklie was not present. She did not even want to think about her family.

"We should get you a ring," Grissom said the next day, holding her bare left hand in his.

She nodded, linking his fingers with hers. "We could go on the weekend. We both have a day off."

He kissed her. "It's a date."

She did not know then that the weekend would never come, or that it would be Grissom who would unknowingly summon her into a world of peril. But much later, she did pinpoint that moment as the last day she had felt normal – and the last day she had cared.

Life was funny like that.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sincere thanks again to those who left feedback. You made my day! Hope this continues to please ..._

* * *

To Sara, dawn was always the most beautiful time of day in Nevada. Unlike most cities, in which dawn spelled the arrival of another working day, in Las Vegas, it was a rare moment of quiet. It was when the last revellers were at last falling into bed, and a pleasant lull fell over the streets as the sun rose on the desert horizon. The desert itself was still, breathtaking in its endlessness as it hovered between the chill of the night and the heat of day, when the summer sun scorched the plains until it was too hot for even the insects to settle, and the asphalt of the lonely roads began to melt.

In the driver's seat of the SUV, Sara fumbled with one hand for her sunglasses. It was already getting hot, and in Nevada, sunglasses were as much an essential part of her kit as anything else. She put them on as she finally spotted her destination ahead – a small cluster of police cars parked a short way from the road, half hidden by clumps of waist-high salt brush.

She peeled off the road, slowing to a stop beside them. Getting out, she nodded in greeting as Brass approached.

"Hey," he said. "They're over there."

He nodded to a spot a short distance away, where Sara spotted her former colleagues gathered as they took a break.

"Thanks," she replied.

She moved to open the back doors of the SUV, zipping on her CSI vest before grabbing her kit, and balancing in her other hand the cardboard tray of coffees she had bought along the way. Brass had not asked her why she was there, though she knew he had not needed to. Though she was officially allocated to swing shift, she still often helped out grave. Her supervisor had no issues with loaning her out whenever Grissom was short, and as the weeks passed, everyone had relaxed on the rules. She often lingered behind after her own shift to see the others, and Grissom in turn had begun to request her help. The set-up meant that they could sleep together during the day.

They called out greetings as she neared, and Sara smiled. She could tell with one glance they had been out here all night. The faint layer of dust on their jeans and shoes, along with the depleted water bottles leaning against their kits were all evidence enough, but the more tell-tale sign was the look of weariness in Nick's posture. He stood, hands on hips, and cast the desert around him a tired glance. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.

"Thank you for coming," Grissom greeted. "We appreciate it."

His tone was formal, but Sara expected this. Though the team knew about their relationship, they had both long agreed to keep it professional at work. Their reputation had taken a hit since the news had got out, and neither of them wanted to fuel the fire any further.

"No problem," Sara replied. She set down her kit and held out the tray. "Here, I brought coffee."

"Wow," Warrick said, looking grateful as he seized one, "you're a lifesaver."

"Just what the doctor ordered," Nick quipped, brightening.

"Thanks," Catherine added, taking her own.

They sat down on their kits, seizing a five minute break before they would go back behind the tape.

"So what's the story?" Sara asked, sitting beside Grissom.

"So far there's not much of one," he admitted. "Yesterday highway patrol spotted a torn and bloodied shirt hanging from a bush by the roadside. DNA of the blood was confirmed by the lab to be from a cold case – a 38 year old woman named Lizzie Stephens who disappeared from Vegas without trace ten years ago. We've been out here doing a grid search in a quarter mile radius. So far we're about halfway, and it hasn't been fruitful."

Sara nodded. Cases such as these were not glamorous, but were a frequent part of the CSI workload. Similar to cases of petty theft, they usually involved hours of work and report writing for little measurable benefit. Yet to Sara, who after seven years in Vegas had seen it all, they were often a welcome reprieve from the darker side of the city. It was nice to be able to chat with her colleagues on a case that was relatively stress-free.

"We'll only rest a minute," Grissom instructed to the team. "Finish your coffee and then we'll get going. We need to get this done."

Catherine gave him a weary look, but Sara sensed, unlike the others, that Grissom might have had another reason for wanting to wrap up the case. As soon as they were done, the two of them would have a thirty-six hour window of leave. Buying a ring was one of the things on their list, but Sara shut the thought off before her mind could drift prematurely to the others.

"So how's life in swing?" Warrick asked, filling the gap in conversation.

"It's fine," Sara said, hoisting a smile. "Busy, but okay. There's more daylight, so that's something, but -"

"Not the same?" Catherine asked, giving her a knowing look as if she saw through all Sara's words.

For a moment Sara teetered on the brink of honesty, but stopped short.

"I'm managing."

The truth was, swing was fine, and everyone on her team was friendly enough, but it wasn't the same. Apart from missing Grissom, she also missed the team, and the feeling of isolation at being left out of their everyday company had disturbed her more than she had anticipated.

"Well it's not the same without you," Nick offered. "I can tell you that much."

"I'll second that," Warrick added kindly.

"Hang in there," Catherine said. "Give it time, we'll get you back."

"It's done, Catherine," Grissom said, with flat honesty.

Sara had to agree, but said nothing, touched by their loyalty. Across the desert she watched the air above the salt bush ripple with heat in a summer mirage. She stared at it, feeling hollow.

"You remember we thought we were all split up permanently once before and yet we ended up back together," Warrick recalled.

"That's right," Nick added. "And you know Ecklie was a lot angrier that time. Just give it time, pick your moment. You know how to play the game of politics. Make your useful, and then when he's grateful, owes you a favour, move in."

"He's right," Catherine said. "In any other town it may be a done deal, but this is Vegas. Nothing here is ever the same for long. Things are always changing, it's inevitable."

"You can come back with Catherine as supervisor," Nick said. "There's no conflict of interest then, right?"

Sara had a feeling that after two years of sleeping with Grissom, effectively having an illicit affair with her boss, and with her prior arguments with Ecklie, that it was not going to be that simple. And then, too, change was expected; it was a part of life that nothing stayed the same forever. But touched by their friendship, she smiled, and thanked them.

"Hang in there," Nick said brightly. "It's never over 'til it's over."

Sara watched the mirage, the subtle ripple of hot desert air. She frowned, but pushed the thought away.

"Let's go," Grissom decided. "Come on, break's over."

Standing, Sara stowed her empty cup safely away inside her kit, and then picked it up to walk with them to resume the grid search.

The last thing she remembered was feeling faint, and after that, everything changed.

* * *

_I hope I'm not going to get killed for breaking it here ... but to be honest this just felt like a natural chapter ending, considering. I would really love to hear what people think, if they're liking this or otherwise. Thanks - Anna._


	3. Chapter 3

Sara woke on the ground. Disoriented, the first thing she sensed was that she was lying in a patch of dry grass. The blades felt rough against her skin, crisp from drought, and small granules of desert dust dug sharply into the side of her face. She blinked, turning her head to catch a glimpse of the blinding sun. Her entire body ached, and her head spun with dizziness. Stubborn, she forced herself up onto an elbow, but as she moved her stomach shifted, and without warning she vomited into the dirt.

She panted, struggling to pull herself together just as she heard someone nearby moan. She fought to lift her head, and through the grass caught sight of a body in a familiar white shirt. She recognised it instantly.

"Grissom?" she croaked.

There was no response. She scrambled toward him, crawling through the few feet of grass to his side. He lay on his back, one hand on his stomach, breathing heavily.

"Grissom?" she repeated. She tenderly touched his face. "Hey, you okay?"

His eyes opened, his pupils rolling as he tried to focus on her.

She glanced quickly over her shoulder, intending to yell for help, for Brass and his officers, but with a jolt realised that they were alone. She was sat on an extensive plain of dried grass, surrounded by rocky desert slopes. They were completely alone, the officers and cars from only a moment before nowhere to be seen. She stared around as confusion seized her – she did not even recognise the landscape, and had no memory of what had happened. Fear stirred in her chest.

Grissom's gentle hand gripped her arm.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously.

She looked back down, and saw he was pulling himself together.

"I'm fine," she assured. "Just take it easy…"

She held his hand to soothe him, but once he had closed his eyes, glanced around, her fear intensifying. In the back of her mind she wondered if she had missed something, if she had been unconscious longer than she had thought. Was it possible they had been moved? She wrestled with her memory, but came up blank. If she had fallen sick at the scene, she knew Brass would have been there, that she would have woken to any one of his officers beside her. Yet there was no one to be seen. She swept her eyes again over the landscape, desperately searching for any sign of life, for any clue at all, and with a further jolt spotted three more bodies hidden in the grass, the desert scrub almost obscuring them from view.

With a lurch, she recognised them. Only feet away was Warrick, stirring faintly, and slightly farther away lay Catherine, who she heard mutter an expletive. Neither of them looked good, but more worrying was Nick, who was in the grass close by, silent and still.

Quickly prioritising, Sara looked anxiously back down at Grissom.

"I'll be back in a minute," she promised. "I need to see if the others are okay."

He gave a weak nod, and with a squeeze of his hand she left, hurrying over to Nick's side.

"Nick?"

She gripped his shoulder to roll him slightly, trying to get a good look. She saw straightaway he was breathing, his chest rising and falling in his CSI vest, but he was very pale. He looked white and sick. Sara pressed a finger to his neck for a pulse, and found it beating reassuringly under her fingers.

"Nick?" she said, gently shaking his shoulder, "Wake up. It's Sara."

"Is he okay?"

She turned at Warrick's voice, and saw he was now sat up, wavering slightly, but otherwise okay.

"Check Catherine," she ordered, pointing to where Catherine lay motionless.

He was slightly shaky as he got to his feet, his legs not quite supporting him, but made his way over. He knelt beside her, his voice soft and worried.

"Hey, you okay..?"

Sara returned her attention to Nick.

"Nick?"

He stirred under her fingers, taking in a sharp breath as he opened his eyes. He squinted up into the sun, and then to her, uncomprehending.

"It's okay," she assured, keeping her voice gentle. "We're fine."

She knew it was a lie, not having a clue where they were, but Nick seemed to trust her. He nodded, and tried to sit up. She kept a hand to his back while he took a few moments to compose himself, taking deep breaths and swallowing as if trying to hold down nausea, and a few feet away Sara saw Catherine recovering, too. Grissom, his grey hair mussed, soon joined Warrick at her side, and taking one arm each, they helped her to her feet. Catherine, full of stubborn Las Vegas grit, soon shook them off, nodding that she was okay. The trio turned to help Sara with Nick, and seeing the rest of them were already on their feet, he stubbornly rose to join them. For the briefest moment Grissom's eyes held Sara's, searching, but she nodded – she was all right. Nevertheless his fingers clutched protectively at her elbow as they turned their attention to their predicament.

Warrick looked deeply unnerved as he turned on the spot, searching their surroundings.

"Anyone else making sense of this?"

Silence fell – a disturbing quiet that stretched all the way to the far horizons. The day was still, not a blade of grass moving, no sign of life. The only sound was that of her colleagues' shoes in the dirt as they turned slowly on the spot.

"Where the _hell_ are we?" Catherine voiced, bewildered.

Sara had had several minutes now to consider the matter, but still had no answers.

"Does anyone remember anything?" she asked.

"I only remember the scene," Grissom replied, sounding equally confused.

"I remember feeling sick," Nick put in. "I felt a bit faint for a moment as we were walking back out … maybe we passed out or something."

"Here?" Catherine questioned, glancing around to indicate the obvious. "We didn't pass out here."

"Well evidently we did," Warrick said. "We woke up here."

"But I don't recognise this landscape," Grissom added, studying their surroundings with a studious eye.

It was an unnerving sign when even Grissom was confused, and Sara watched Catherine take out her cell phone, checking the screen.

"It's dead," she reported, holding it up. "No charge."

Sara stared, then quickly dug for her own, unearthing it from a pocket in her vest. But a moment later she had to concede the same result, and the others fared no better.

"Weird," Nick reported, shaking it a little. "All at once …"

Feeling distinctly scared, Sara wrestled for control over her nerves, forcing herself to think straight.

"We should take a look around," she suggested. "Check over those rises, see if we can see anything. We might not be far away."

Even as she said it she knew instinctively that something was wrong – more wrong than stumbling over a hill and fainting due to heat – but with no better ideas, the others agreed, and they set off for the nearest slope. Their shoes crunched on the dirt and dry desert grass as they crossed the open space, and Sara felt Grissom's hand still hovering near her elbow, as if he was nervous about letting her go. A moment later they had slipped and slided to the top of the slope, and Sara got her first good look at their wider surroundings.

They were not exactly in the middle of nowhere, but it was close enough that the view did nothing to alleviate her fear. The landscape did not even vaguely resemble the one they had left in the desert. There was a road visible in the distance, but it was dirt, a lonely winding track that wove its way through rolling desert hills. The rest of the view was empty, with nothing but endless dry grasslands with the exception of a small, isolated old country house that looked a mile or two away, nestled in a valley between the slopes.

"Well we got a house," she said, trying to sound positive. "That's something, I guess."

"You wanna check it out?" Catherine suggested. "See if they've got a phone?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah."

"Let's go," Nick chimed.

It was a fair distance, and under the scorching sun they took it slowly, with both Catherine and Nick still looking pale. Sara kept an eye on them, setting a gentle pace, and for a little while no one spoke. She sensed the unsettling nature of their situation hovering between them, each of them unwilling to talk about, not wanting to show either weakness or fear, but latching instead on to the goal of the house ahead. After a while, when the slope was far behind them, and the valley they had woken in was hidden from view, Sara began to wonder if they had done the right thing, if they should have perhaps left a marker or a note at the place where they had woken. If Brass was indeed nearby, or someone came looking, it would make it all the harder if they were on the move and had left no sign. But by the time the thought occurred to her, it was too late to consider, and she resolved to say nothing. After a while the uncomfortable silence was broken by Nick, who started a harmless conversation with Catherine about Lindsey's progress at school.

"You said she's got exams right about now, right? How's she doing?"

"Fine," Catherine replied, brightening at the subject, the colour steadily returning to her face. "She finished them last week in fact. She passed well in English and Science, got great marks in dance."

"Takes after her Mom," Warrick said, smiling.

"You think she'll be a dancer?" Nick asked.

"She wants to be. And, you know, as long as she doesn't dance like I did, I guess I'm okay with that."

They were over halfway when Sara realised that Grissom was oddly quiet. She looked to him just in time to see him unzip his vest, appearing to suffocate in the heat.

"You okay?" she asked, out of earshot of the others.

"It's hot as hell out here," he complained, looking faint.

It occurred to her suddenly that he got had got to his feet in the dried meadow not because he felt okay, but because he had been far more worried about the team than he had been about himself. He had no doubt forced himself, shaking, to his feet as soon as he realised that Catherine and Nick were unconscious.

"Take it off," she guided. "Cool off."

He shrugged the vest from his shoulders, discarding it with relief into her hands, and then unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt.

"We'll get a drink at the house," she promised. "Take a rest."

He nodded, but seeming to focus on walking, he said no more. Sara slipped her hand into his, and felt his palm was sweaty against her own.

By the time they reached the private property, Grissom had lapsed into complete silence. As they made their way down the dusty driveway Sara spotted a shady old oak tree beside the open barn, and quickly steered him toward it.

"You guys go ahead!" she called out to the others. "We're going to rest a minute."

They stopped in their tracks.

"You okay?" Nick asked, worried.

"We're fine," she said, steering Grissom to sit down against the trunk. "You go ahead."

They left. A moment later Sara heard Catherine call out as they walked up the steps to the porch.

"Las Vegas Crime Lab!"

Not having a response, they disappeared inside, helping themselves through the unlocked door. It looked to Sara like an old farmhouse, a two storey white weatherboard that had the paint peeling from exposure to the harsh Nevada sun, the verandah at the front holding an old disused swing sweat in the corner. A dilapidated barn stood to the side, and through its open doors Sara could see it was stacked with hay. But the place looked otherwise deserted, with no cars or any vehicles visible, and it was silent.

Turning her attention to Grissom, she put his vest aside on the grass, and sat down with him. He leaned back against the tree trunk, closing his eyes with a sigh.

"Just take it easy," she soothed, rubbing his knee.

They rested for several moments, sitting quietly, until at last the shade of the tree helped him get his strength back, and he recovered enough to take an interest in their surroundings, looking thoughtfully at the house for a moment, and then to her and her hand on his knee.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

Though she was far better than she used to be at reading his expression, sometimes he remained an enigma – one she liked to unravel.

He hesitated. "I think you look beautiful."

She laughed, his statement so unexpected that it blindsided her. Apart from their situation, she knew she was not exactly looking her best. The old jeans she wore, her favourite when clean, were now covered with dust, her shirt was untucked, and she knew her hair was messy from lying on the ground. And yet he was gazing at her, at her hand softly rubbing his knee, as if he had truly meant it, and as if their predicament did not concern him.

"I love your smile," he added honestly, smiling himself.

She grinned.

"What are _you_ thinking?" he returned.

Sara glanced to the house, and was honestly wondering if the others had found any water, but watching him smile at her, she was more inclined to go with her second thought.

"I think … your hair looks like we've just had sex," she said, taking in the chaotic grey stands which looked like a bad case of pillow hair.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"You know if we'd just had sex, you'd be naked," he replied.

"Not necessarily."

She was thinking of the times when they had not made it that far, in the early days of their relationship when they had come home from work after eight hours of staring at each other across the table, only to close the door behind them and go for it right then and there in his living room. Usually they did make it to the bed – or even the couch – but a few times they had run out of time to completely undress each other, the need simply too great, and on those occasions he removed her top before giving immediate priority to her pants, tugging them down as she desperately removed his, and somehow, he had never got around to completely removing her bra. More recently, as the relationship progressed, it had been her underwear or even her pants which had stayed on, strained around her ankles as he took her passionately over the back of a chair. It was a position she had only ever engaged in with Grissom, and only then after a long while, but it was a memory which still made her smile, and all of it had been some of their best sex to date.

"Is this a private conversation?"

Sara's reverie broke as Catherine returned, crouching down beside them with a pointed look that verged upon a teasing smile.

"I know that look – don't make us separate you."

Grissom removed his fingers from under the hem of her shirt, where they had been gently touching her skin, and Sara, realising too late that they had even crept under there, hastily smoothed down her shirt.

Nevertheless she had the impression that Catherine's trained eye had noticed, and quickly changed the subject.

"Is anyone home?" she asked.

"No," Catherine replied, sitting down with them, "in fact the place looks abandoned. The front door was barely hanging onto its hinges, and there's a thick layer of dust over everything inside. The phone line's dead, and the electricity's off, but there's water." She held out a full glass for Grissom. "Have a drink, you look pale."

He did, downing half the glass.

"So you don't think anyone's been here for a while?" Sara questioned. "And with no way to contact the outside world, no vehicle –"

"It doesn't look good," she agreed.

There were footsteps as Nick and Warrick returned, sitting down in the shade with a sigh.

"Well we looked around, but there's not much of note," Nick said. "Can't see anyone, and there doesn't appear to be any neighbours."

"The short story is I don't think we're going to find anything here," Warrick said. "Which means we've got a decision to make."

Grissom looked up into the cloudless sky.

"The sun's high," he said. "The temperature's still rising … if you're thinking about walking up the road for help, it's dangerous. We don't know how far it is, and this place looks remote. It could be a long way."

"Well we still don't know what happened," Nick said, "what chance there is of anyone finding us out here. I mean, I don't know about you guys, but I'm gonna be honest, this whole thing is starting to creep me out. I mean if none of us remember anything, we all woke sick, that's something we probably need to take into account. You know what I'm saying?"

Sara did, and knew he was vaguely touching on a suggestion that they could have been drugged, that they could have had a traumatic memory loss or brain injury, that they could be miles from where they last remembered being. It was not something she wanted to think about, or even acknowledge, and she fought again to hold onto the rational side of her mind, taking only one thing at a time. Any more than that and she knew they would mentally crumble.

"I think we should go," she suggested. "We know there's water here, we can take some with us. If it turns out too far, we can always come back."

"You do remember what happened the last time you went for a stroll in the desert, right?" Nick asked, concerned.

Sara felt a stab of irritation. She loved Nick, but wished he could refrain from talking about things that were too painful to think about.

"Yes, I do, and that's my business," she said firmly. "But this is a different situation. We have water, and we have a road to follow which has to lead somewhere. And we're not alone, we're all together. I think we should rest for half an hour, until everyone gets their strength back, but beyond that I don't think it's wise to wait."

"I'm with Sara," Catherine said swiftly.

Sara had the impression that Catherine could not bear to stay still and wait, and like her, preferred to take their fate into their own hands.

"Warrick?" Grissom prompted.

"I'm with Cath," he said loyally. "Besides, like Sara said, if it looks hopeless we can always turn back, and we can leave a sign here for Brass just in case anyone does come looking. From that point of view we have nothing to lose."

Grissom looked back to Nick.

"It's your decision," Nick said, looking as if he disliked the situation either way. "I'll go along with whatever."

"Then we'll go," Grissom decided. "We'll rest for half an hour, until everyone has their fluids back, but then we'll leave. We'll leave a note here for Brass."

XXX

They did rest for half an hour, spending the time scrounging for water bottles and containers, and filling them up at the dusty kitchen sink. Sara saw the place indeed looked deserted inside. The furniture was still all present, and it looked as if it had been a comfortable country home once, but was now strangely abandoned as if someone had made a hasty departure, or else as if they had left one day and never made it home. The inside gave Sara a slightly uncomfortable feeling that she was trespassing, and with that in mind she retreated back outside and spent most of the remaining rest period under the oak tree, preferring its cool natural shade to the darkness inside the house.

After a while, when Grissom, Nick and Catherine all got their colour back, and after Grissom had coaxed Catherine into drinking enough water that Sara learned she had actually vomited five times in the desert, emptying her entire stomach and running a risk of dehydration, they had eventually reached the stage when they were ready to leave. They carried water each, and Grissom left his CSI vest tied to a nearby tree where it was visible from the air – a note inside the pocket for Brass in case the LVPD somehow came looking. After that, they began their long walk, walking back up the driveway under the scorching sunlight, and at the dusty road Grissom elected to turn left.

The walk was strangely therapeutic, the sensation that they were moving, were doing _something_ to actively help themselves, walking off her fears with every step. All in all, it wasn't too bad. She had certainly had worse hikes – the terrifying walk she had endured through the desert after her abduction was one of them – and compared to that, the stroll down the dusty sunlit track with her friends was relatively peaceful. As before, they all carefully avoided talk about their predicament, knowing that to wallow in the fears and possibilities would only bring the team down and make things worse, and Catherine in particular, tough as nails, kept the mood upbeat. Within two miles she had Warrick reminiscing about his first girlfriend, and how he had snuck away from his grandmother's house at night-time to meet her in the deserted school grounds, and by the time she switched to Nick to ask about his first love, they were all laughing. Neither of the men could resist Catherine's smile or teasing curiosity, and before they knew what was happening she had them opening their lives to her like a photo album.

On and on they walked, mile after mile of winding track through the desert slopes, Grissom encouraging them all to regularly sip water, until several hours later, when Sara started to sense that something was wrong. Grissom had encouraged them to sip so much water that Nick needed a toilet break, and arguing that ladies were present, modestly ducked down a slope and out of sight to relieve himself behind a tree.

Knowing that of all of them Nick had seemed the least resilient to their situation, Sara waited until he was out of sight before saying something.

"We've come a long way," she started, "it's been at least three hours –"

"I think we're closer to four," Warrick said.

"And we haven't found anything," Catherine said, finishing Sara's sentence.

Sara nodded. "We haven't even seen any other houses, not even farms. We're probably in the middle of a National Park or state desert, there's been no private property out here since the house we left."

"And there's been no cars," Grissom said. "If you look at the ground there's not even any tyre marks, which means there probably hasn't been a car out here for quite some time – at least not since the last good rain."

"And being the height of summer, that's probably been a while," Catherine agreed, grave.

Sara looked at the road ahead. It stretched into the distance, with little sign that anything was going to change.

"How far do you want to take this?" Warrick asked.

"I don't know," Sara replied, honest.

It was a hard call to make, knowing that the answer may just be around the next corner, or that they may end up walking for hours with nothing at the end and destroying their bodies in a fruitless exercise. But to turn back meant giving up, and having to retrace their footsteps all the way back to the house.

"I'm starting to wonder if we chose the wrong direction," Grissom admitted, looking concerned. "And the further we go on, the more tiring it's going to be if we have to go back, and the greater chance that we're going to get caught out here at nightfall."

"The temperature's going to drop to near freezing out here at night," Sara pointed out, "and none of us have proper clothing, we're all in short sleeves …"

"At least at that house there were water and blankets," Warrick said. "It's enough to keep us alive, and out of trouble."

Catherine was silent. For the first time she appeared gravely concerned. Sara felt it, too; a hollow, twisting sensation in her stomach, the realisation that they were perhaps in real trouble.

"We need to make a call," Grissom said. "Now by my watch it's one o'clock, if we're going to be back by sunset we can't afford to go for more than another hour, even assuming that everyone feels fit enough to retrace their steps and go all the way back."

"I'm starting to think we'll have to," Catherine confessed. "This doesn't feel right, this track, it's too deserted."

"I say we go a little further," Warrick suggested. "As long as we've come this far we might as well keep going until we have to turn back. If it comes to it, we can go back to the house and try the other direction tomorrow."

Sara nodded. The suggestion was sensible, but she no longer felt good about it.

"You know Nick's scared, right?" she said quietly, glancing down the hill to check he was still out of earshot.

"I know," Grissom replied quietly. "But right now there's little we can do."

"We just need to stay positive, stay strong," Catherine said. "If we do, hopefully he'll feed off that. If we don't keep it together we'll put ourselves in even more danger than we're in already."

"We'll take care of Nick," Warrick said. "Don't worry."

In the end they kept walking, until fate removed the decision from their hands. They had only walked another mile before the track tapered into nothingness, reclaimed by grass and clumps of desert shrub, and with a look of grave disappointment Grissom turned the team around. Nick fell into a reserved silence, and though Sara did her part in trying to keep the conversation going, in the end they walked back in relative quiet, their lonely footsteps crunching on the gravel. After a short way Grissom slipped his hand into hers, and they held on to each other's fingers for the rest of the way, until the isolated country house at last came back into view, and they walked back down to it in sheer physical exhaustion, the sun setting behind them. Grissom's vest still hung from the tree limb, untouched.

Grissom and Warrick sat down on the old, split-seamed couch in the living room, looking as if they could fall asleep right there, but Sara, determined to hold it together, trekked up the old creaking wooden staircase to check on the bedroom situation. As it turned out there were three – two rooms with clean single beds, and a third with a double – plus a bathroom with hot water. The beds had blankets, and a curious glance inside the linen closet told her there were more if needed. It would do, and would hold off the freezing night desert air. If someone wanted to coming along and arrest them for trespassing, then as far as she was concerned that was an improvement on the situation, and they could perhaps get a ride back to PD in Las Vegas. Until then … she sighed, making her way back down the stairs, her legs muscles weak from hours of walking, and rejoined the men in the living room.

"There's plenty of beds and blankets," she reported. "We'll be warm enough until morning."

"Good," Warrick said, head in his hands. "I gotta tell you, I feel pretty tired. I don't know, maybe this will all look better in the morning. Maybe it's a dream."

Sara couldn't bring herself to acquaint him with reality, and let the statement go. Her own thoughts were on the little food they had. She had spotted a leftover tin or two of soup in the pantry, but there was little else. Walking as far as they had today was bad enough, but walking in the opposite direction tomorrow with no energy and with their legs still aching from the night before would be worse. It had been a long time since she had felt so grim, but knew she had to hold it together – that if one of them cracked, they would all crack.

"Where are the others?" she asked, noting their absence from the house.

"Outside on the verandah," Grissom replied.

She wandered to the screen door, and through it caught a glimpse of Catherine and Nick sitting together on the old floral swing seat, Catherine with her arm around Nick's hunched shoulders. He had his head in his hands, eyes downcast, and Catherine held him firmly.

"We'll be fine, Nicky," she said bracingly. "We need to keep it together, okay? There's no reason to give up yet. It's far too early. We'll have a good rest tonight, get out of here in the morning. A road can't lead to nowhere in both directions. And when we do get back to civilisation we'll go for a drink. It'll be fine. This time tomorrow we'll be home. Okay?"

She heard Nick sniff, wipe at an eye.

"Okay," he said, nodding.

"You want to go for a walk? Clear your head a little?" she offered.

"Are you serious?" he asked. "We've been walking all day, Catherine. We covered half of Nevada out there."

"Just up the hill," Catherine urged, nodding to the grassy slope behind the barn and oak tree. "Take in the view a minute."

He gazed at her in disbelief, looking as if he barely had the energy to stand, much less walk anywhere, but Catherine was waiting, and in the end he nodded.

"Only for you, Catherine," he said, forcing himself up, though Sara heard him laugh.

Sara knew that Nick was physically and mentally exhausted – having been up for over twenty-four hours, covering a crime scene, and then an all day hike lost in the sun – and that for this reason he failed to see what she did; that far from torturing him, Catherine wanted to get him on his own for a few minutes, and was walking him up the hill to talk with him alone, and possibly to boost his morale with some TLC.

As Catherine passed the screen door, she looked through it to Sara.

"We'll be back in a few," she said.

"Sure," Sara replied.

She turned back to find that Warrick was doing a stocktake of the kitchen supplies, and had his nose in the pantry to catalogue the near empty shelves.

"We've got some soup here," he said, turning over the can to check the date. "It's still good."

"We should probably keep that for morning," Sara suggested. "We might need the energy for the hike out."

He replaced it on the shelf.

"I think you're right." He looked around at them both. "I guess we might as well get some sleep. No sense in staying up in the dark without any power."

"You go," Grissom said, raising his head though he looked exhausted himself, "I'll wait for Catherine and Nick to come back."

Warrick nodded, he looked ready to collapse where he stood. "I'll say goodnight then."

They exchanged their goodnights, and Warrick touched Sara's shoulder in solidarity as he walked past, heading for the stairs.

Sara gazed for a moment at Grissom sitting alone, and walked over to join him. Though he did not look at her, he automatically took her hand as she sat down, holding it in his own. Exhausted herself, Sara had no energy to say much, but wanted to sit with him until Catherine and Nick returned, when she herself would find a bed upstairs.

"We'll be okay," he said quietly, finally lifting his head to look at her.

"I know," she said, nodding. She shrugged; she had been through worse.

He looked down at their joined hands, his fingers moving to link with hers.

At that moment the silence broke, the sound of thudding footsteps filling the air as someone pelted down the hill outside. She heard Catherine shouting.

"GRISSOM!"

Sara bolted to her feet, reaching instinctively for her gun holstered at her back. She flew toward the door, throwing it open.

"GRISSOM!"

Sara took the porch steps in one leap, landing in the dust and running to Catherine's aid. She saw the redhead sprinting toward them at a breakneck sprint.

"CATH!" Grissom shouted, running at Sara's side. Behind them, Sara heard Warrick tearing down the stairs.

"There's a body," Catherine said, stopping in front of them. "In the field."

Sara gripped her gun, and a moment later, they were all running back up the slope.

* * *

_As it turns out, there are benefits to being sick. One is that I've spent the day quite cosy in front of the heater at home, writing this and posting it about a week earlier than expected. Quite enjoyed it too. I honestly think that out of the five of them, Nick would be the first to crack. We know from the show that Sara and Catherine are both very resilient, and Nick seems to feel things more than the others. And I think that'd be a hard situation to take in._

_Believe it or not, in the end I left out the cliffhanger and played it straight. Thought I might get shot if I put three cliffhangers in a row - LOL. Anyway, hope people are enjoying how this story is going, would love to hear your thoughts! _

_Anna._


	4. Chapter 4

They did not need to run far. They crossed the rise into the grassy plain beyond, and in the darkness Sara could just make out Nick at the bottom of a rocky slope, crouched beside someone. They rushed to his side, and when they reached him Sara's chest suddenly twisted.

"Oh no …" Grissom breathed, face contorting.

It was Sofia. She lay slumped on her side, her body sickeningly limp and twisted, her deathly pale face looking ghostly in the starlight. Her hair was slick with blood oozing from the side of her head, and Sara thought for a moment that she was dead, until Nick spoke.

"She's alive," he reported, shifting over to let Grissom in, "but barely. Pulse is faint, she's stone cold, looks as if she's been here a while."

Grissom quickly fished a pen light out of a pocket, shining it onto her. He felt her pulse, and then raised one of her eyelids, checking the reaction of her pupils to light.

"It looks bad," he said.

He fell silent, appearing to think fast.

"Nick – run back to the house. Get a blanket for a stretcher, and anything we can use to brace her."

"It's risky to move her," Sara said, as Nick left.

"I know," Grissom replied. "But we can't leave her out here."

He pulled his hands away from her, knowing that the slightest touch could inadvertently kill her.

"She's wearing a PD windbreaker," Warrick said slowly, eyes on Sofia's jacket. "High visibility – means she was probably out looking for us." His eyes drifted from Sofia to the slope behind her. "Maybe she took a fall. Head wound's consistent with striking a rock -"

"And I don't see anyone else out here," Catherine said, glancing around. "She must've arrived here the same way we did – however that was."

"It's not important," Grissom said, looking too scared to care. "Right now, let's just focus on keeping her alive."

A moment later Nick returned, passing an armful of blankets and towels to Grissom.

"How do you want to do this?" Warrick asked.

"Slowly and carefully," Grissom replied. "We need to be sure of her injuries so that they can be properly braced and immobilised – otherwise we may end up causing her more harm when we move her. And that means we need to perform a secondary examination, check for fractures and any sign of bleeding."

"I'll do it," Sara quickly volunteered.

She felt a surge of protectiveness over the helpless woman at her feet. The last thing Sofia needed was the men all stripping her naked between them. Sara had done a first aid course once, back at the Academy, and roughly knew the drill.

"I'll give you a hand," Catherine said. She looked to the men. "Why don't you guys give us some space a minute."

Grissom nodded. "All right. Call out when you're ready."

They disappeared up the slope, and then over the other side.

"She's ice cold," Sara said, touching the pulse at her neck. "We'd better make this quick."

"Hold her head," Catherine replied, taking out her own pen light. "You keep her still."

It was hard to hold her head without touching the flowing blood, but after easing Sofia's long hair back out of the way, she managed it, and held her still.

Catherine worked quickly. She started with Sofia's head, examining her skull for possible fracture, and then moved down over her neck to her torso. She unzipped Sofia's windbreaker and unbuttoned the black blouse beneath before spreading the sides.

Sara felt a stab of shock. "Oh my God –"

Sofia's chest and abdomen were covered in bruises. Though they were mild, the discolouration light, they were widespread enough that Sara knew that if Sofia had been conscious, she would have been in agony. They lay in patchy blotches over her shoulders, and then deeper on her abdomen, spreading under her zipped pants.

Catherine looked speechless, and after a moment, pushed up Sofia's shirt at the back to reveal more of the same.

"Maybe she took a tumble," Sara suggested faintly.

"Or one of her suspects roughed her up," Catherine replied, looking equally puzzled.

They moved on, checking over Sofia's arms, legs and pelvis, until they were sure that the only major injury they could find was to her head, and then redressed her before calling the men back.

"What did you find?" Grissom asked. "I heard you talking."

"I'll show you later," Catherine replied, taking the blanket and unrolling it. "She's okay to move. We'll have to brace her head and spine, but she should be okay."

They carried her back to the house on the blanket and set her down on the couch. They put a clean towel underneath her to catch any blood, and in case she vomited, and then braced her in position with blankets and rolled up towels along her neck and spine, keeping her on her side. Sara hurriedly went to the kitchen and fetched an empty bucket from under the sink, placing it on the floor nearby for use if she woke, and Catherine took charge of a damp washcloth to dab gently at the head wound and the blood soaking her long blonde hair.

Grissom still looked stricken. Sara laid a hand on his arm.

"She needs a doctor, Griss," Warrick pointed out. "The time she's been unconscious, whatever's wrong with her isn't anything we're equipped to deal with here. We need to get her to a hospital."

"She's not showing any signs of waking up," Nick said, looking equally scared. "If we're going to save her life we may not have much time."

"Maybe we should leave now," Sara said, a heavy feeling in her stomach. "Take the road in the other direction –"

Grissom turned to look at her, eyes widening at the suggestion.

"And hike out?" he asked.

"I don't think there's a choice," Sara said gently.

She knew he was worried; worried about how exhausted they all were, that all of them could barely stand, let alone hike for any distance, for help that might be a hundred miles away. As a scientist she knew the adrenaline they all felt would help, but only for so long. After that, sheer physical exhaustion would take over. And yet, despite knowing that, the thought of leaving a colleague to die was not an option. Sara had to know that they had done all they could, if the worst was to happen, and that was likely.

"I know it's a risk, but we can't leave her to die here," Sara said. "We may feel better in the morning, but she may not make it that long."

"Exactly," Warrick said. "And I don't want to be burying her in the morning if she doesn't, digging her a grave outside. I couldn't live with that on my conscience."

Grissom had no words; he looked pained – torn between losing Sofia, a solid friend, and the risk of losing Sara, his lover – and finding neither option acceptable.

"Catherine?" Nick prompted.

His eyes searched hers, wondering if she was with them. Catherine put the damp washcloth aside and slowly stood.

"Do you think you can make it?" she asked.

"We can make it," Nick said emphatically, not hesitating. "I'm fit. I know Warrick is –"

Catherine looked to Sara, and despite the fact that her leg muscles felt like jelly, she nodded too. One way or another, they _had_ to make it, and she knew it was down to her, Nick and Warrick to do it. She loved Grissom, but knew the truth was he was unfit, and that Catherine too was dead on her feet. If they did not go, did not find a way, they would be burying Sofia's body in a makeshift grave come morning. The thought tore her up, not only for the thought of losing a colleague, but for the knowledge of how deeply she knew it would affect Grissom.

"I'll be fine," she said.

Catherine nodded; she looked to Grissom, but he still hadn't found words, tormented.

"Take water and blankets," she said. "And don't take risks. If you feel too tired to go any further, just stop and rest. We need you to make it alive."

Sara nodded. She felt as if she had a block of lead in her stomach.

"I'll go get some more blankets," Nick said. "We don't have any time to lose."

It all happened fast. Minutes later Nick appeared with a blanket for each of them, and Catherine had refilled their water bottles. Sara took a last parting glance at Sofia, deathly pale and bleeding into the towel on the couch, and hoped to hell that she would survive the night. The thought of having to face Brass, of having to face Sofia's family, and having to help Grissom through his grief was more than she could bear.

"Don't you worry about a thing," Nick told her, bending down to gently touch Sofia's shoulder. "We'll be back with help. You just hang in there."

Sofia gave no indication she had heard him, or even knew they were there.

They headed out onto the verandah, and Grissom took Sara's arm, steering her to a spot a few feet away.

"Sara –"

He looked lost for words, his eyes wracked with pain, and with fear for her. He held out his hands helplessly in front of him.

"I know," she said tenderly.

She felt equally torn up inside, and wondered how long it would be before she would next see him, and if he would survive the next few hours if Sofia died. Sara steeled herself; she had to trust that Catherine would keep it together, and was strong enough to handle whatever came.

"I'll be back," she promised, taking his hand in hers.

She sensed the others a few feet away, waiting for her.

"Be careful," he said softly, at last finding words.

"It'll be fine," she said, and she leaned in to kiss him. Her lips briefly held his, and he kissed her back, for the first time not caring that they were doing it in front of the team. When they broke apart, the stricken look in his eyes remained, and it pained her, cutting her soul.

Reluctantly she crossed to Catherine, who had already hugged the others, and now moved to hug Sara.

"Don't worry," Catherine said in her ear. "I'll take care of everything."

She knew from the look in Catherine's blue eyes that she did not just mean Sofia. Sara nodded, grateful.

"You two take care of each other," Nick said, walking down the stairs to the ground. "With a little luck we'll be back in a few hours. It won't be long."

"Put your feet up," Warrick said, with ease of confidence. "It'll all be fine."

Sara held Grissom's eyes for another second before she turned to leave with them, and when she did, pain wrenched her. She headed for the driveway with Nick and Warrick, unable to look back, knowing if she did she may not leave at all. But she had to leave, had to find a way out, and had to find help. There was no other way.

She took a deep breath, and with steely determination, headed for the road.

* * *

_I honestly felt sorry for Grissom while writing this part. I honestly think it would be a very hard thing to feel that kind of helplessness in watching someone you know dying before your eyes - regardless of whether you consider them a friend or just a colleague. It'd be difficult. In any case, story's speeding up now. Would love to hear people's thoughts!_


	5. Chapter 5

They walked quickly, urgency spurning them onwards up the deserted road. Sara felt wide awake now, her senses sharpened with adrenaline, her legs no longer tired. Ahead the road wove onward into the distant night, and above them, the stars of the universe twinkled down with oblivious peace. It made her feel insignificant, isolated from civilisation and utterly helpless.

"You okay?" Nick asked suddenly.

Sara nodded. "I'm fine."

Grissom's eyes were still reverberating within her, but she knew she had to keep it together. Now was no time to fall apart.

"Hang in there," he said. "Sofia's strong, she's not the type to give up without a fight. And the best thing we can do for her right now is to keep going – to stay positive."

"I know," she said, and tried her best to sound it.

"You religious?" he asked.

Sara looked up. "Uh, no. Not often."

The sum of her religious experience was polite silence at the odd wedding or funeral, and that had been as much as she could manage. But she said nothing, knowing and respecting that Nick felt otherwise.

"My mom always said faith helps. She used to pray in times of crisis, said it makes you stronger, helps you cope. I didn't believe it at the time, but I guess in times like this it doesn't hurt, right?"

"Sure can't do any harm," Warrick agreed. "I think we're all saying our prayers right now, man. I know I am."

"Me too," Sara agreed.

Nick touched her shoulder.

"Let's just keep up a steady pace," he said bracingly. "If we do that, we'll be fine. The tortoise and the hare remember? Slow and steady."

"Slow and steady," Warrick agreed.

They kept walking. It was a surreal experience, hiking the endless dusty track, their quiet footsteps the only noise for miles. They followed the trail up and down slopes, through gullies and around hillsides, as it wove its way through the rugged, dry landscape of desert Nevada. They talked little, breaking into speech only to help each other on, each of them offering support whenever they sensed another beginning to slow. And despite the enormous pressure of the situation, despite the prevailing fear and utter physical exhaustion, she felt comfort in knowing that Nick and Warrick were there with her, feeling exactly the same. Though their jaws were set in determination, there was a trembling vulnerability in their eyes which told her they were as scared for Sofia as she was, and did not blame her for her nerves any more than she did them for theirs. As the miles wore on she felt her physical and mental strength wane, and they each took turns in leadership like a baton relay, urging each other on, keeping each other hydrated, the act becoming harder with each gruelling mile they trekked.

At last, eventually, they arrived. They reached the top of a gradual slope and saw a town below on the desert flat, the road winding down into its dark main street.

"Oh, hello," Nick said, catching sight of the dark buildings. "Jackpot! Let's go, come on –"

He clapped Warrick on the back, and broke into a jog. Sara forced her legs to function, and followed with Warrick at a walk. It was all she could do to keep upright.

Nick headed for the door of the first house and knocked hard.

They waited.

"Las Vegas Police!" Sara shouted, reaching to hammer again. "Could you open your door please?"

Silence.

"Maybe they're not home," Warrick said.

He turned to look at the driveway, and Sara realised for the first time that it was empty.

Nick was undeterred.

"Next one," he said, hurrying to a run-down house over the street.

But a similar fate followed. No one came to the door, and their shouts yielded no answer. There was an old truck in the driveway, but stopping to stare at it, Sara suddenly spotted something – there was grass growing from a patch of dirt and muck along the edge of the roof, and looking down, she saw the front tyre was flat.

"I don't think this has been driven in a while," she said, holding it in the beam of her light.

Nick's hopeful face faltered; Warrick frowned. But Sara was a step ahead of them. With sinking realisation, she went back into the street, and took in the streetscape. She saw now other signs: that the doors of two houses nearby were ajar, a third had a broken window, and down the street, the asphalt had crumbled and disintegrated, clumps of grass and weeds growing in pot holes and in snaking crevices.

"It looks like a ghost town," Warrick said, following her gaze.

Sara was speechless. She made her way back into the street, staring as she walked toward the town centre.

"Oh, I don't believe this," Nick said, somewhere behind her. "This is weird. It's like a movie or something."

"I don't think anyone's lived here for a while," Warrick said. "This place is dead."

Sara stopped outside a small strip of shops. The store windows were dusty, battered by desert winds, and hadn't been cleaned in months. The paint on the glass was faded, and the door to the drug store stood slightly open. Sara walked to it, putting a fingertip to the wooden frame to push it open.

"Las Vegas Crime Lab!" she announced. "Is anyone here?"

No response.

"No one home," Nick said, following her in.

The shelves were fully stocked, everything neatly arranged as though ready for another day of business, yet the floor was covered with a layer of dust, and the counter was covered in a mess of hastily discarded paper and coins.

"Doesn't look like a robbery," Warrick said. "No one breaks in and forgets to take the cash or the drugs."

"What are you thinking?" Nick asked. "Some kind of natural disaster? Evacuation, maybe?"

"I don't know, man," Warrick replied. "There's no sign of storm damage. But whatever happened it sure looks like everyone left in a hurry, and hasn't come back."

At the counter, Sara picked up the phone. There was no dial tone.

"Phone's dead," she said, holding it up.

She spotted a light switch on the wall, and flicked it. Nothing happened, and the only light remained from their own thin beams. She spotted a daily flip calendar on the counter, and shone her light on it to read the date.

"Last page reads November 3," she said. "I guess that's the last time anyone was here."

"That's about nine months," Nick said.

Sara looked up at the guys; she felt confused.

"You know, even if this was a natural disaster or evacuation, you'd expect everyone to have returned by now. This place looks as if it hasn't seen a single person since the day it happened. Nothing's boarded up, the street's in ruin … no one's been back here."

"Maybe whatever happened didn't happen here," Warrick postulated. "We don't know how widespread this thing is, we don't even know it was a storm. There's no sign of that."

Sara glanced around, searching for a newspaper, but found none. And without electricity or a working phone line, she had no hope of looking it up on the store's computer or Internet connection. They were cut off.

"We need to look around," she said. "Find a newspaper or a radio …"

Nick nodded, catching on. "There's a grocery store over the street," he said. "I'll check there."

"I'll check out back," Warrick added.

They disappeared. Sara was just contemplating the medical supplies when she heard Warrick call out again.

"Yo, Sara!"

She followed him to the back of the store, where he stood over a cluttered desk beneath some shelves. He had an old radio in his hands, and was slowly turning the dial. Static buzzed loudly.

"I can't pick up a single station," he said. "You wouldn't expect to get all the local ones, but the nationals on AM should be here. Yet there's nothing."

A feeling of heavy dread grew in the pit of Sara's stomach. At that moment she heard Nick return.

"You two in here somewhere?!" he called.

"Back here!" Sara replied.

He appeared in the doorway, and held up the front page of a newspaper for them to see. The headline was in enormous bold print – "NEW YORK DECIMATED".

"What the hell's that mean?" Warrick asked.

But Sara looked to the photo, and thought she knew. The photos of sick people piled in the streets of Manhattan outside a major hospital was enough. There were hundreds, and most of them looked dead. It looked reminiscent of a historical photo, something she had not seen outside of an encyclopaedia.

"Plague," she realised. "A pandemic."

"And that's not the worst part," Nick went on, his face white. "According to this, this paper was printed in Las Vegas, _Utah_."

"Utah?" Warrick repeated, confused. "Is that a typo?"

"Not when you look at the weather map inside," Nick replied. "According to this, Nevada doesn't exist. It never seceded from Utah in the first place."

Warrick stared.

"Then where the _hell_ are we?" he asked slowly.

"I don't know," Nick replied. "But I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto."

XXX

They pored over the paper, studying the details by torchlight, trying to piece together the puzzle. Sara read that the virus had started in south-east Asia, and from there migrated to every corner of the world with devastating speed. Measures to contain it had all failed due to the lightning fast gestation period – six hours separating first contact from death – and the United States had soon been hit. Entire cities had been wiped out. They flicked over a few pages to see the weather map Nick had referred to, and she saw he was right. Nevada did not exist.

"If this plague was nine months ago, there's no telling how far it's spread by now," Warrick said. "I mean it looks like this thing has killed nearly everyone it's touched, left no one alive."

"It explains why there's no one on the radio," Sara said. "We don't know there's even anyone out there. We could be the last people on Earth."

"It's something you always joke about as a conversation starter, but it definitely doesn't feel funny now," Nick said worriedly.

"Well fingers crossed that whatever it was has burnt itself out," Warrick said.

"Well if it hasn't, we'll soon know," Sara said, knowing that they would fall sick within the hour.

But strangely, this didn't seem to be the part that most disturbed Nick.

"This timeline overlaps," he said. "The Vegas we know never suffered this, and we're nine months past when this was printed. I mean, it's possible, right? In physics, parallel universes and all that, an infinite number of scenarios and outcomes –"

"What are you saying?" Warrick asked. "That we tripped over in Vegas and woke up in another world?"

"That's … nuts," Sara said, shaking her head.

"I agree," Nick said. "It's crazy. And yet here we are, and I can't think of another theory that even remotely fits. I mean I'm no physics whiz, I did chemistry, but they say it's scientifically possible. You've heard that, right? And I gotta tell you, this place feels pretty real to me. And it explains what happened to us out there, when we woke up not remembering anything, sick, isolated in a strange place despite the fact that only seconds had passed –"

"Nowhere in the literature does it describe that people can walk freely between worlds," Sara said, struggling to take it in.

Nick shrugged, looking every bit as shocked and scared as she was, but not having any other ideas.

"I don't know what to tell you. I hope to God I'm wrong."

Warrick took a deep breath, struggling to digest it. "Well even if it's true –what the _hell_ do we do?"

Nick had no answer, and an uneasy silence settled. Sara thought of Grissom, imagining him sitting alone with Catherine, watching the driveway and hoping for their return as Sofia died before their eyes. Suddenly Sara knew what to do. They only had one option.

"We have to go back," she said firmly. "We'll grab what we can, everything of use – supplies, medication, and food, and go back."

"And if we're contagious?" Warrick asked. "I mean, we haven't been near anyone infected, but we don't know how this thing's being transmitted. It could be on anything we've touched. What do we do if we've contracted this thing?"

"It's probably burnt itself out by now," Sara said. "Most infectious diseases require a host to transmit, they don't survive outside the human body. But if we have … it won't matter."

She gave him a level look, and knew he understood. If they had contacted the disease, they would not even reach the house. They would die on the road, sick with fever, their bodies slumped together in the dirt. And sooner or later, Grissom would come searching, and find her there, dead.

She wrenched her mind away. That thought hurt too much, and she _had_ to remain strong.

"And Sofia?" Warrick asked, grim.

Sara had no answer. The truth was there was nothing they could do.

"We'll stick with her," Nick said, eyes glistening. "We'll do whatever we can. We won't abandon her when she needs us."

"Assuming we even make it back," Warrick said.

"We've gotta stay positive," Nick said, taking charge. "We can't afford to think like that."

He glanced around the room, mind turning to the stock, and Sara nodded, her frantic mind already a step ahead.

"You go grab some food," she said. "Tins, cans, anything long life … I'll gather up some medical supplies."

Warrick pulled himself together. "I'll go see about some transport," he said.

XXX

In the end Warrick was unable to find a car. It was only a small town, and of the few dozen houses the ones that did have cars no longer worked. Like the one they had first passed in the driveway they were ruined, or else the batteries were flat. With no replacement batteries available, he went to the next best thing, and scrounged them bicycles from nearby porches and garages. Nick emerged not long after with several bags of food – airtight tins chosen from the grocery store – and Sara quickly filled a bag of medical supplies from the pharmacy. She got a range of painkillers for Sofia, bandages and syringes, and on impulse threw in some tampons and pads from the bottom shelf, not knowing how long they would be stuck.

They tied the packages to their bikes, and with a hint of sunrise on the horizon, climbed on.

It was harder than Sara could ever have imagined, and harder than she ever wanted to remember later on. All she knew in the end was that it was Nick who had brought them all safely home. She and Warrick were both so far beyond exhaustion that they could barely stay awake, and all of Sara's energy depleted, she longed to simply collapse on the road, to close her eyes. Not even the thought of Grissom could carry her any further. She had a faint awareness of Nick riding beside her, his hand on her back, and sometimes on her handlebars, steering her straight, and she remembered too faint glimpses of him giving similar support to Warrick.

"Nearly there, man," he said gently. "We can make it. You can sleep when we get there, a nice soft mattress waiting for you…"

Perhaps it was the thought of the mattress that carried Sara home, though she had little memory of arriving there. She sensed the track sloping downhill, the hot sun on her sweaty clothes, and then, somewhere, Catherine's voice.

"Hey, Grissom!"

Nick helped her off her bike, and it clattered to the ground. She reached the steps, and sat down.

"We've got big problems, Griss," Nick said.

"Just a minute –"

Sara felt his hand on her shoulder, heard his voice close.

"Sara?" A beat. _"Sara?"_

Somewhere, Catherine echoed her name. But too tired to respond, Sara fell asleep.

* * *

_And now the plot's done, I can get on with the bit I'm really itching to write ... feeling good about this story. Slightly guilty about what I'm putting them through, but good nonetheless. ;)_


	6. Chapter 6

She woke in an upstairs bedroom. Nestled in a cosy single bed, she took a moment to take in her surroundings. She seemed to be in an old guest room, a single bed with patchwork quilts situated hard against each wall, the floor between them covered with a worn, country rug. The room had a large bay window with a window seat overlooking the valley, and late afternoon sun streamed in with a fading golden glow. The bed opposite looked as if it had been slept in, and she saw Catherine's vest slung over the end.

She spotted then Catherine in the doorway, watching her with a slight smile.

"Hey," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Sara felt drowsy, and inclined her head only to blink at the onslaught of sunlight. Every fibre of muscle in her legs ached.

"Tired," she admitted. She fought to sit up, but the soft mattress made it difficult – it was so cosy she could have stayed there another twelve hours.

"We carried you up here after you collapsed on the porch," Catherine supplied. "You were done in –slept the day away."

Sara did not know what to say. The memories returned with painful heaviness, and she fought to hold them off a moment before facing them. Under the blankets she felt her legs were bare, and she spotted her jeans hanging over the back of a nearby chair. They were folded neatly, with mathematical precision, and she knew instantly it had been Grissom. He must have put her to bed, helping her off with her clothes before tucking her in between the sheets, snug and warm. She felt love for him stir briefly in her chest.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"After five," Catherine answered. "Grissom's downstairs cooking some dinner. We wondered if you were up for joining us."

Sara nodded. "Sure."

She swung her legs to the floor, and tried not to wince as her muscles protested. Catherine passed her her jeans.

"I'm gonna go check on the guys. I'll see you downstairs, okay?"

Sara agreed. She heard Catherine leave for the next bedroom, and slowly tugged on her jeans. She had been in her stale clothes for two days now, but it was only one of many problems she could do nothing about, and it was nothing compared to their situation. She knew Grissom and Catherine had to know the truth by now, that either Nick or Warrick must have filled them in, and that it was probably why she was being summoned downstairs. But still she had no answers for them, and the heavy feeling of dread lodged itself back in her chest. She visited the bathroom to quickly use the toilet and wash her face, and then headed downstairs.

She paused for a moment at the bottom, acclimatising. The kitchen and living room were brightly lit, thanks to the warm afternoon sun, and standing at the gas stove with his back to her was Grissom. She smiled to herself, spotting that he wore a frilly blue lace apron tied around his front as he stirred the contents of a large saucepan. On the table nearby the newspaper they had brought from town was folded and put aside, and the bag of drugs she had brought was closeby on the counter. She turned to look at the lounge suite, searching for the answer to the question she had not been able to ask upstairs, and felt momentary relief – Sofia was still breathing. She lay unconscious, a clean towel under her head and fresh bandages where the blood had previously been, but she was alive. Several half-burnt candles lay strategically placed around the room. Evidently Grissom and Catherine had kept up an all-night vigil.

"Hey," she greeted, heading for the kitchen.

"Hey," he replied.

He looked at her almost as if with surprise – and with relief.

"Nice look," she added, smiling as she pecked him on the lips.

"I thought everyone might like some dinner," he replied. "You haven't eaten in a while."

Sara nodded. Now she thought about it had been about thirty-six hours, and the queasy feeling in her stomach was due to more than just anxiety.

"How do you feel?" he added.

"Sore," she said truthfully, "but I'm okay."

He pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down and take it easy."

It felt nice to be taken care of, even for a second, and she happily obeyed. As he stirred the contents in the saucepan she marvelled at his mental strength, that despite everything, he somehow seemed to be in control. But she had little time to think about it as the others soon joined them, and after checking briefly on Sofia they all took their seats at the table with varying degrees of exhaustion. Catherine in particular looked as if she had not slept for days, and she did not miss the comforting hand that Warrick momentarily placed on her shoulder.

Sara felt a frank conversation regarding their predicament looming, but Grissom seemed keen that everyone should eat first, and in the end the dinner proceeded with relative normality until the last plate was clean, when he stacked the dirty dishes in the sink and then sat down, looking only slightly ill at ease.

"We need to talk," he said simply.

"I agree," Warrick replied, looking tired but resigned.

Sara said nothing, bracing herself.

"Now I know everyone here's feeling tired," Grissom went on, "everyone's feeling worn out and emotional, and that's okay. I'm going to keep this simple and to the point. There are a few things we need to discuss, things we need to be clear on, and I'm going to go through them now, one at a time."

They waited.

"First of all, I know everyone here knows our predicament. Catherine and I went through the newspaper today, we heard Nick's account of what happened in town, and we've had a few hours now to take it all in. I think the most important thing right now is that we stay calm, and that we don't panic. If you're worried about your families – Catherine, I know you're worried about Lindsey – that's understandable. But let me just say this: the number one hope our families will be cherishing right now is that we're all safe and together. They can handle us missing if they know we're taking care of each other. So let's not throw that into the wind and endanger ourselves by acting irrationally. We're going to stay together, stay calm, and work through these problems one at a time as a team."

He paused as if waiting for their agreement, and Sara nodded. What he said made sense.

"Now there are a lot of things we need to work through, a lot of questions that need answers – our location, this disease – those are all things we need to think about. But I think that before anything else, our number one priority right now is Sofia."

Sara could stay quiet no longer, and worried, she spoke.

"Griss," she said gently, "I have to be honest. She's been out for twenty-four hours now with no sign of waking. We have to assume she has a head injury, and without proper facilities, without even an IV drip, she's going to dehydrate quickly."

She saw worry embedded in Nick's eyes, but Grissom took it in his stride.

"I know," he said. "And that means the next 48 hours are critical. It may well be serious, but we're going to do everything we can. Catherine and I have been tracking her vitals every half hour, keeping a record, and it's clear from the numbers that she's making some improvement. We're also rolling her every hour, and we've seen her make signs of slight movement twice."

"You're saying you think there's a chance she'll wake up," Nick clarified.

"I think we need to be prepared for the fact that she might," Grissom said. "And that means that until we know, or until she's stable, I want someone with her at all times. We can tag team to ease the burden, but I want everyone to take their turn. Monitor her vitals, keep her airways clear, and if she does wake, bear in mind she'll probably be in a great deal of pain and distress. Give her drugs if she needs them, make sure she drinks some water, but keep her calm. Reassure her, and be careful about what you tell her. Don't give her any more information than she can handle."

The group nodded.

"We'll take care of her, Griss," Warrick said, looking worried. "Whatever it takes."

"Good," he replied.

No one spoke about what would happen if she didn't wake, but Sara knew that was something they would have to face if or when it happened.

"And this disease?" Catherine voiced, speaking for the first time.

"For now, let's stay well clear of it," Grissom said. "We'd be stupid to take the risk. We have enough food to last us a while, so we'll be okay for now. And I'd rather we come out of here safe and sound in a month than lose our heads now and not return at all. If we do need to go to town again, it'll be strictly by group consensus. We have to assume this disease is still out there, and we know it's highly contagious. We can't afford for anyone here to contract it. And that means we're going to stay away from town or inhabited areas as long as possible. I don't want anyone leaving this property or immediate vicinity without the knowledge and permission of the group. Whatever happens to any one of us will affect us all. And if you're outside bear in mind that we don't know how this thing is being carried. Avoid any contact with wildlife, no matter how innocent it may seem, and wash your hands regularly. In all likelihood there may be a time when we'll need to go back to town, particularly if we're going to find a way out of here, but until then we bide our time and play it safe. We're going to make it back home, but we're going to do it safely and wisely, and we're going to take Sofia with us." He paused. "Any questions?"

There were none.

"All right," he said. "Class dismissed."

It crossed Sara's mind that he had not even mentioned Nick's theory of parallel universes, but she felt almost grateful for that. She barely had the energy to get her own head around it, and knew the team was too tired to absorb anything more than his immediate instructions to look after Sofia, and not stray from the property.

Catherine wavered as she stood, blinking as if trying to focus her eyes.

"Why don't you get some sleep?" Warrick suggested, drawing her to one side. "You've been on your feet forty-eight hours; you've done enough, we can take it from here."

"I can't sleep," Catherine said, stubbornly shaking her head.

"You need your rest," he said. He put his arm around her, leading her to the stairs. "Come on, let's get you into bed."

She didn't put up a fight, and Warrick led her upstairs. Nick wandered into the living room and sat on the coffee table facing Sofia, and Sara sighed. She felt Grissom take her shoulders, massaging.

"Do you honestly think we're going to make it out of here?" she asked quietly, turning to look at him.

He had no answer.

"Let's just take one thing at a time," he said.

Sara nodded. It was not the answer she was looking for, but it would have to do.

XXX

The next few days passed in a haze of exhaustion. The long hours blurred into each other, spent sleeping and caring for Sofia, and Sara only realised in hindsight how tired they had all been after their return from town. After Warrick had put Catherine to bed, she slept for a solid fifteen hours, long enough that Sara actually tip-toed into their room to check on her, and Grissom too was similarly tired. He joined them for three hours the first night before he was sent to bed by democratic vote, and after Sara had tucked him in and kissed him goodnight she settled in for the night shift with Nick and Warrick.

It was a strange atmosphere. With no electricity the living room was lit with flickering candlelight, and the house countryside were utterly silent in their isolation. To lift their spirits they resolved to keep busy, and after unearthing a sponge and spray cleaner from the laundry cupboard Sara set to work in removing a year's worth of dust and grime from all the surfaces, polishing them to a sheen. Warrick, content to join her, washed the dishes and swept the floorboards, while Nick kept up a vigil by Sofia's side, monitoring her vitals and recording the results on the chart Catherine had drawn up. After the housework was done they took turns in looking around the house and barn, checking exactly what supplies they had, and sometime after that Nick found a cupboard of board games, and talked them all into a game of scrabble.

Sara realised then the toll their trip to town had taken, as she stared at the letters on her tray and had to force herself to concentrate to get them to wriggle into order, but it was not until a few hours later – well past midnight – that anything interesting happened.

Nick was rounding off his victory when Sofia moved. She winced; her entire body stiffening with pain.

"Sofia?"

Nick moved quickly to her side, holding her hand in his.

"Hey, now. You okay? Can you hear us?"

"Sofia?" Sara said clearly, kneeling beside him. "It's Sara. Open your eyes if you can hear us."

"Sofia?"

She winced again, and her fingers tightened in Nick's. He firmed his grip, soothing.

"It's okay," he said. "It's okay, now. You're safe. Open your eyes if you can."

Her eyelids opened. Groggy and disoriented, her pupils rolled as she struggled to focus.

"Focus on me," Sara said. "It's Sara. Nick and Sara. Focus on us."

It took a long moment of coaxing – during which Sara began to doubt she physically could – but then, Nick holding her hand tight, her blue eyes honed in on them. A look of thick confusion marred her features.

"It's okay," Nick repeated. "You're safe with us. You're gonna be okay."

And at last, she spoke, breathless and pained.

"What happened?"

"You had an accident," Sara supplied. "You hit your head outside."

"Took a little bump to the temple," Nick added. "But you're gonna be fine. You're safe now."

Her eyes fluttered closed again, but she continued talking, breathing her words weakly into the towel she lay on.

"Where are we?" she asked.

Sara searched her weary brain for an acceptable lie, knowing it was no time for honesty.

"We're in a house," she said gently. "We're stranded but we're safe."

"How's the pain?" Nick asked, squeezing her hand. "You got some pain in your head? Your spine?"

"My head," she answered, voice wavering with agony. "It hurts …"

"Sara –"

Warrick handed her a glass of water and two pills.

"Try her with these. We'll see if it helps. We want to keep her off the hard stuff if we can."

"We have some painkillers here that will help," she said kindly. "Do you think you can take them if we help?"

She looked to be in too much pain to answer, but her hand let go of Nick's to reach out, and Sara took that as a yes. While talking her through what they were doing, they slipped two pills into her mouth, and then helped her sip some water.

When done she put the glass aside. Sofia looked exhausted by the effort, and started to doze.

"Let her sleep," Warrick suggested.

"You just rest, we're gonna be right here, okay?" Nick said. "Anything at all you need, you just yell out. We're right beside you."

She drifted back to sleep. Sara recorded the developments on the nursing chart while Nick held her hand, and it was another three hours before she woke again.

This time, they were ready for it. Nick was already holding her hand before she spoke.

"I'm cold," she breathed weakly.

Sara felt her forehead before moving to her feet and lifting up the blankets. Sofia's ankles were white and cold, and the temperature in the room had fallen as night seized the desert.

"I'll get some more blankets," Sara volunteered.

"I saw some wood outside in the barn for this fire," Warrick said, indicating the fireplace in the corner of the room. "Maybe we could light it a while, keep the temperature in here steady."

"Good idea, man," Nick agreed. "You do that, I'll stay with her …"

It went on for hours. Sofia drifted in and out of sleep, each time becoming steadily more aware of her surroundings, and they took care of her as best they could. They encouraged her to drink water each time she woke, wanting to ward off dehydration, and monitored her temperature under the cocoon of blankets. It soon became apparent to Sara that Nick's compassion lent him natural nursing skills, as he warmly held her hand and endlessly reassured her that she would be fine, and Sofia improved under his care. By mid-morning, when the sun outside was heating up and Grissom and Catherine finally came downstairs, she was engaging in conversation, and Grissom sat down beside her looking as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Hi," he said lightly.

The change since he had last seen her was dramatic. Apart from being awake, Sofia now rested on her back, Sara having replaced the towel with a more comfortable pillow. Her long hair spilled down over her shoulders, and though she remained very weak and confused, she smiled faintly.

"Hey," she replied tiredly.

Standing nearby, Catherine looked stunned that Sofia was conscious, but Sara was grateful when she quickly masked the expression. She sat down on the coffee table beside Grissom, and gave a warm smile.

"Hey," she greeted. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been hit by a steamroller," Sofia replied, eyes drifting closed.

"How's the pain?" Grissom asked.

"Next question," she answered.

She did not offer more, which to Sara was a telling sign, along with the fact that despite being awake for a while now, she had asked no questions about their location or what their situation was.

"Do you know where you are?" he queried.

"It looks like someone's house," Sofia said, peering around.

The room was light now, the candles put out as the morning sun rose.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Catherine asked.

Sofia looked at her a moment, then became suddenly evasive. She appeared confused, and shook her head.

"I'm not sure," she replied.

She looked unsettled by something, and perhaps sensing this, Grissom did not press her any further. Catherine laid a hand on her arm, giving a reassuring squeeze, allowing her a moment.

"Have you had some water?" Grissom asked. "Something to eat?"

"She's had some water," Nick supplied. "We didn't want to try her with food until she was ready."

"Think you can handle some soup?" Catherine asked.

"I'll try," Sofia agreed.

"I'll fix you something," Grissom said.

Sara knew the reprieve from questions was only temporary, that in all likelihood Grissom would thoroughly examine her mental status as soon as he thought she could withstand it. But he seemed wary of pushing her too hard too soon, and retreated to the kitchen to make her some soup.

It was not long after that Sofia, looking slightly awkward, voiced a need to use the bathroom. The group helped her down the hallway to the small room, and after advising her not to lock the door, waited outside. Sara heard Grissom and Catherine talking quietly in the kitchen, but after a while realised that everything was quiet on the other side of the door.

"Sofia?" she prompted, knocking. "You okay in there?"

No reply came.

Nick looked concerned. "Maybe you should –"

"Yeah," Sara agreed.

She cracked open the door, peering around. Sofia stood at the bathroom sink, her shirt removed, staring with confusion at her bruised torso in the mirror. Her fingers hovered an inch above the dark bruises on her abdomen, not daring to touch, but looking deeply disturbed.

"Hey," Sara said kindly. She shut the door behind her, and crossed to her side. "You okay?"

Sofia spared her a glance. "Sara, I don't –"

She broke off, troubled.

"You don't remember?" Sara guessed.

"I remember some things," she confessed. "I remember all the things I wish I didn't, but none of the parts I wish I did. And I don't know how I got these."

"We think you took a fall," Sara said kindly. "We found you near some rocks."

She did not offer more, not knowing exactly how much Sofia was ready to hear. But Sofia asked no questions, and continued to stare puzzled at herself in the mirror. Sara wondered after a moment if she had even heard.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Again, Sofia looked troubled, and then asked the last question that Sara had ever expected to hear.

"Sara … how's Catherine doing?"

Surprised, Sara hesitated.

"She's fine. She's doing okay." After a moment she added, "Why?"

But Sofia didn't answer. She sighed, and as if regretting saying anything, picked up her shirt.

"It's nothing," she said. "Forget I said anything."

And it wasn't until much later that Sara made any sense of it.

The day drifted onward. As Sara expected, Grissom discretely requested the others leave the room so he could talk to Sofia alone, and later reported that despite having a large gap in her memory, all the other signs were positive. She was in a great deal of pain, from both her head and bruises, but the painkillers seemed to help, and she was at least engaged in what was happening. In the afternoon she managed to sit up for a half hour, joining them in doing a jigsaw puzzle on the coffee table, and when Nick stationed himself at her feet and idly gave her a foot massage to get her circulation going, she smiled for the first time that day. Later that evening it was Grissom who kept her entertained, reading her several chapters from Dickens' _A Christmas Carol_, which he had retrieved from the family bookshelf. Sara, perched on his armrest with his hand on her thigh, smiled to herself as he did all the voices, distracting Sofia from her pain.

It was the following afternoon before Sara had any time alone with Grissom. It was a warm, pleasant day, the sun in full bloom but not quite as scorching as the previous three, and relieved from nursing duty they seized the opportunity to slip outside alone for a walk. They walked hand-in hand through the extensive paddocks of sunlit grass, tracing the fence line before returning eventually to the barn. It was stacked high with square bales, leading up in height like steps, and they climbed up a few, sitting down on the soft hay.

Grissom rested his hand on her knee, thumb rubbing through the denim, and as they stared out through the open doors at the rolling countryside she at last dared to ask the question she had been withholding for two days.

"How are you coping?"

He did not reply immediately, but sighed deeply.

"This may sound selfish," he said at last, "but if I have to be here, I'm glad you're here with me."

She looked into his eyes and saw it was his honest reply, honest in a way that he couldn't be honest with any of the others. But she nodded, understanding.

"I feel the same," she confessed. "If you hadn't summoned me out to help with the case, I'd still be in Vegas, searching with Brass and Greg, worrying about what had happened. This isn't paradise, but at least we're facing it together."

He nodded. She had many more questions, things she was curious about – how they were possibly going to face the question of their location, how they were going to ever get back – but fearing the answers, and already knowing, she did not voice them. Nevertheless she felt the questions always heavy in her stomach, the burden growing heavier with each day, as Sofia became more and more mobile, and the question of their next step crept ever closer. The necessity of taking care of Sofia had largely distracted them all from the many problems they were reluctant to face, but Warrick and Catherine were starting to show signs of chronic insomnia. She had heard Catherine tossing and turning in the next bed the previous night, but had been powerless to comfort her.

But mostly she felt for Grissom, knowing that as leader the burden was settled heavily on his shoulders, his responsibility not just for himself but for the wellbeing of the entire team. Stuck with a problem there was little chance they could ever escape.

Looking up, they caught each other's eyes, and without needing another word, leaned in. It was open-mouthed from the start, his tongue working with hers, kissing her slowly as if they had all the time in the world. The hand on her knee slid to intimately cup her inner thigh, but he seemed in no hurry, relaxing with her, taking his time, and it was pleasant. They kissed for a while before Sara broke off to move to his neck, kissing down to his shirt as she reached for the buttons. She made her way down, popping them open. In one swift movement he drew her into his lap, straddling him, and when he kissed her again – Sara pushing his shirt from his shoulders – it grew steadily more passionate. He made quick work of her shirt, hurriedly undoing the buttons before tossing it aside, and with a large hand splayed on her naked lower back, he pulled her closer against him, until there was no space between them at all, and she felt him growing, large and ready, between her legs.

She kissed him hard, passionately pulling him to her as she ran her hands over his chest and back, and then all of a sudden, just when her hand had edged toward his belt, he drew away.

"Sara –" He gasped for air, out of breath. "We can't do this –"

She smiled, working his belt.

"You're about five minutes too late," she teased. "Don't start something you can't finish, Gil Grissom."

"I can finish," he said, as if this stung his pride, but he hastily stalled her fingers on his belt buckle. "But you were on the pill, and you haven't taken it now for three days –"

But Sara reached deep into the front pocket of her jeans, fishing out a wrapped condom and pressing it into his hand.

"Something else I found at the pharmacy," she said.

He took it, surprised.

"Well it's nice to know your mind was on the job," he teased.

But Sara grinned. "Are you complaining?"

"Well that depends," he replied. "How many did you bring?"

"How many will you need?"

There was a spark in his eye as he looked at her, and then, smiling like he was a boy again, he took her. Hard and passionate, she was immobile, trapped in his arms circled around her, his hands roaming and groping with several days of pent-up stress and need. He ground himself against her, and she felt a bolt of pleasure unravelling between her legs. She knew she was steadily losing her senses, but there was something else she wanted to do first – something she had wanted to do for him for several days now while watching his stressed expression across the living room.

She quickly worked free his belt buckle, and, momentarily leaving his lap, stripped him of his pants and boxers. She had been right – he was large and more than ready. Perched on the edge of the hay bale, he reached for her, evidently intending to even up the score, but with a hand on his arm she held him at bay. Lying his clothes aside, and casting a wary glance to the open door, she knelt between his legs, and with a smile to him, took him in her mouth.

He drew in a sharp breath.

"Oh my God –"

His right hand sank with need into her hair, not holding her down exactly – Grissom was not the sort – but gratefully absorbing all she offered. She worked slowly, wanting to draw it out for his benefit, and she listened as his breathing rapidly changed. The hand on her head wandered, ducking between her tresses and her shoulder, and knowing what he needed, what he wanted, she reached down with both hands for her own jeans and slipped them down to her knees together with her underwear, so he could see her as she worked. When he drew in another sharp breath, she knew she had hit the right note.

"Oh God," he said, hand buried in her hair.

She moved in closer against him, intending to finish him off, but was stopped suddenly as he tugged on her arm, drawing her up again.

Confused, she looked up.

"You're coming with me," he said.

He raised her up, and in a second she had lost all control of the matter. He quickly disposed of her bra, and a hungry hand groped her breast hard as he threw her back onto the hay. She instinctively spread her legs for him, and with a thought that the hay was strangely comfortable, waited as he quickly tore open the condom. A second later he was ready, and she held him to her as he eased himself in. She closed her eyes, revelling in the pure joy of the feel of him hard inside her, and as he started gently thrusting, she almost came straightaway.

Later, the deed done, he held her to him, and she rested her head wearily on his shoulder. She did not know how long they slept, only that when she woke, Grissom was shaking her shoulder, and the sun had lowered so that it was streaming in through the open barn doors.

She blinked, and sighed with utter contentment.

"We should go. I think we overslept," Grissom said. "They'll be wondering where we are."

Sara propped herself up on her elbows, and saw they were both high in the haystack, their clothes scattered around them like confetti. She looked down at the entrance, of which they were in full view.

Had they really just done it in a barn?

All the same she could not resist smiling. "Should we –"

"- have done that?" Grissom finished. "Probably not."

But he was smiling, looking like the proverbial cat that had got the cream, and she grinned. No, they shouldn't have done that – but technically they shouldn't have had a secret affair for two years, either, and that hadn't stopped them. Some things were simply too good.

She stared around at the discarded clothes with sudden confusion.

"Where's my bra?"

"Uh …" Grissom glanced around. "I'm not sure. I think I threw it somewhere."

She giggled, sitting up.

"Never mind, I'll help you find it."

They had to search a small mountain of hay, but eventually found it across the far side of the stack, buried between a bale and the barn wall. Still giggling, they began to gather up their clothes just as Sara heard a new voice – Catherine.

"Grissom!" she called. "Sara?"

Her footsteps were coming closer, approaching the barn door to search, and sharing an alarmed look with Grissom, he hastily called out to stop her.

"We're here!" he called. "We'll be inside in a minute."

His voice was firm, an order for her to not come any closer.

She heard Catherine hesitate.

"Right," she said, sounding uncertain. "I guess I'll see you inside."

Sara was filled with a sudden suspicion, but hoping she was wrong, she quickly dressed, and working hard to suppress their smiles, they walked casually back inside.

Catherine stood in the kitchen with Nick and Warrick, and all three of them were barely suppressing knowing grins.

Sara indicated vaguely over her shoulder. "We just uh …"

"Got lost?" Catherine suggested.

"We went for a walk," Sara said smoothly.

"Uh-huh," Warrick said, nodding along.

Nick looked as if he was going to burst into laughter any second.

"And you were in the barn because..?"

"Checking supplies," Grissom said innocently.

"Oh," Catherine said, nodding. "Good."

She stacked her mug in the sink, and for a second Sara thought she was off the hook, until Nick spoke. Grinning, he pointed to her hair.

"By the way, you have hay in your hair."

Sara reached up, and sure enough came away with a strand of hay between her fingers.

"And you may want to dust off your knees," Catherine added, leaning in to whisper to Sara as she walked past.

Sara looked down, and saw that, sure enough, the knees of her jeans showed tell-tale signs of dirt.

She went red. Her colleagues knew –there was no escaping a CSI.

"I guess that's why they call it a roll in the hay," Warrick quipped.

And grinning, the three left the room before Sara could even respond.

* * *

_Hence the M rating..? ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

The joke quickly withered, helped into submission by a stern look from Grissom, and though Sara doubted it would be the last they would hear of it, no more was said of it that evening. As daylight faded Nick and Warrick were allocated cooking duty for the evening meal, and soon set about installing themselves in the kitchen and examining supplies, but across in the living room, Sofia had fallen into a worrying silence. She sat with her head in her hands, her hair ruffled from a day of lying on the couch, and beside her Catherine sat with an arm around her shoulders, talking quietly in her ear. After a moment Sofia nodded, and the two disappeared discretely upstairs.

Seeing Grissom looked concerned, Sara gave the two a few minutes' head start before following to check on them. She found them in the upstairs bathroom, and though the door was closed, she heard Catherine's voice coming through softly from the other side.

"… It's starting to get dark out, I'll leave the matches here with the candle just in case. And you've got a clean towel, washcloth … Can you manage or do you need some help?"

"I can manage," Sofia said weakly.

Even as she listened to the pain in her voice, Sara had to wonder if it was true, and when Catherine next spoke it was with a note of maternal concern.

"Well yell out if you need us, okay? Don't hesitate. We'll be close by."

"Thanks, Catherine."

"I'll be back."

The doorknob turned, and Sara thought to go back downstairs, but it was too late. Catherine emerged, but as she closed the door behind her she looked unconcerned by Sara's presence.

"Is she okay?" Sara asked.

Catherine shrugged; she looked worried, and motioned toward the nearest bedroom, wanting a private word.

They closed the door behind them.

"I think she's in pain," Catherine explained. "Worn down. It's starting to get to her."

They were in Grissom's bedroom, the only one with a double bed, and the master bedroom for the house. The sheets on the bed were wrinkled and creased from an evidently restless night's sleep, the covers thrown carelessly aside. Catherine moved to the wardrobe, opening it to survey the previous owner's clothes. She reached for a blue men's t-shirt.

"Well," Sara said, considering the problem, "we could always up the meds. A higher dosage might help."

"She's worried she'll get addicted," Catherine replied, throwing the t-shirt onto the bed. "If we use the narcotics there'll be side-effects – sleepiness, nausea, hallucinations. And I don't know, I think part of her's just tired. She's taking a hot shower, then we'll get her into some fresh clothes and get her to bed, and hopefully it'll help."

Sara nodded sadly. It was a hard feeling to watch someone struggle to deal with their pain, and know there was so little they could do to help. The hours of helping Sofia had left her feeling strangely morose, and had been another reason she had been eager to escape into the sunshine with Grissom that afternoon. The burden of all their problems was growing ever heavier.

"Actually, I wanted a word," Catherine said, putting some shorts with the t-shirt. "About the sleeping arrangements. Sofia needs a bed. It might make it easier for everyone if you shared with Grissom. I wondered if you'd mind."

There was a knowing glint in her eye as she asked which told Sara that she already knew the answer. Sara tried to rein in a smile.

"Uh … I think we can agree that's a rhetorical question," she answered, sharing a conspiring grin.

Catherine laughed, and closed the wardrobe door.

"Just bear in mind the walls are thin," she said. "Try to behave yourselves. No hanky panky."

"Well, I can't make any promises…" Sara teased, grinning.

And laughing, they left the room.

As it happened, Catherine had little to worry about. After her shower Sofia went quickly to bed, helped by Catherine, and the others followed not long after. As Sara closed the bedroom door and sat down on the bed she felt strangely tired, and she realised she had been staring aimlessly only when Grissom's hand settled affectionately on her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

His hand squeezed, and she leaned into it.

"It's been two days and she hasn't asked," Sara said, shaking her head at him. "How long do we let this go on? We can't hide the truth forever."

Grissom looked tired, and wearily shrugged a shoulder.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I think maybe she's afraid, that she knows something's wrong. Or that she's in too much pain to handle it."

"I know she's in pain, that she's hurting, but we can't stay here forever. We have to make a call. This limbo is burying us alive."

"I know," he said simply. He squeezed her shoulder. "If she doesn't ask tomorrow, I'll tell her. And Catherine and I will go into town."

He didn't look comfortable with the prospect, and Sara knew he wanted to avoid splitting the team at all costs, that he preferred all of them to go to town together. The risk of disease, the fear of what was waiting for them out there was very real, and yet the uncertainty of waiting around in the house for days on end was getting to be more than Sara could cope with. When she had first returned from town she had desperately needed the rest, but now, the idleness and fear was wearing them all down.

"Come here," he said, drawing her to him.

She let him guide her, and lay down on the bed, snuggling into his side. He held her, drawing a sheet up over them both and kissing her hair.

"Go to sleep," he whispered.

And closing her eyes, feeling safe and warm in his arms, she did.

In the end, fate removed the decision from their hands, just as it had everything else in the days since their arrival. Sara slept through most of the night comfortably snuggled in bed, but when she woke, thanks to their early night, it was still dark. She turned her head on the pillow to see that she had drifted away from Grissom sometime during the night, and that he had inexplicably hogged the blankets. Smiling to herself, she pushed herself up, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. There was a hint of faint purple light coming from around the curtains, indicating it was nearing morning, but the house was silent. She shivered as she sat there, the morning chill cold against her bare legs. Like all of them, she had borrowed fresh clothes, and adopted a purple t-shirt and black shorts from the cupboard. Her underwear, jeans and shirt had been discarded, with a vague plan that she would hand wash them in the laundry and hang them out to dry in the sun later on.

She swung her legs to the floor, and as she did the mattress moved.

"How'd you sleep?" Grissom asked quietly.

She turned, unaware that he had been awake, and saw him lying back comfortably back on his pillow, gazing at her.

"I slept fine," she said, then added with a smile, "considering you hogged the blankets."

His eyes flitted down to her side of the bed, but he looked more amused than concerned.

"You should have tugged them back."

She grinned. "I would have."

"Besides," he added, eyes innocently dipping to her bare legs, "It's habit. Maybe I like the view."

She grinned wider, and for a second had to struggle not to get back in bed and join him. He smiled with such contemplative innocence that it took all of her strength to resist. She knew very well what he meant, that he was thinking of all the summer afternoons in which they had slept together back in Vegas. Sara was a restless sleeper, and often kicked down the blankets and sheets until she woke with nothing over her. And on hot days, when she often slipped into bed in just her underwear, or naked post-coitus, she had often woken to find him gazing intently at her, his love-filled eyes on her breasts, his expression strangely relaxed. Sometimes he traced her nipples with his index finger, watching them harden, and then invariably his touch ended up drifting further down, until his fingers settled between her legs. She had taught him once, early on their relationship, how she liked being touched, and he had committed the lesson to memory with mind-blowing accuracy. He knew just how much pressure to apply, how fast to go, and without ever exchanging a word, would watch as he brought her to orgasm. He always grew hard watching, and more often than not she took care of him afterwards, leaving both of them thoroughly satisfied.

He held up the blankets.

"Come on," he said, "We'll share. I'll repent for my evil ways."

She smiled, but was jolted as she heard a door across the hall click closed. Soft footsteps sounded on the floorboards as someone padded toward the stairs, evidently not wanting to be heard.

"Someone's awake," she said quietly.

A sharp wince sounded.

"Sofia," Grissom realised.

They both got up, and made their way downstairs by torchlight. They found her in the kitchen, a single candle on the table flickering dull light through the room, Sofia standing at the bench popping two pills into her mouth. She wore the blue t-shirt and shorts that Catherine had fetched her earlier, but to Sara she looked much better than she had the night before. Sofia turned to glance at them as they came down the stairs, and there wasn't a trace of pain in her face.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Good morning," Grissom greeted, sounding surprised. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Sofia admitted, giving a small smile. "I think I slept for over twelve hours – that bed's really comfortable." She scrutinised them a second. "I hope I didn't wake you?"

"We were already awake," Sara said. "We heard you come downstairs."

Sofia raised an eyebrow, but did not comment.

"Would you like some coffee?" Grissom offered.

"Yeah," she agreed.

Grissom crossed to the stove. Since the electricity was out, they had to boil the water in a saucepan. It was not ideal, but over the last few days Sara had gotten used to it, just as she had adjusted to everything else.

"Look," Sofia said awkwardly, "as long as we're alone down here, can we talk?"

Sara turned with Grissom to look at her. There was an intensity to her expression, to her blue eyes, which told Sara the moment had come. But it was Grissom who replied.

"Sure," he said gently. He pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down."

Sara joined them, leaving the water to boil quietly on the stove. The candle flickered, burning low.

"I've spent the last few days trying not to ask this," Sofia began, "but now … I think I need to know. I need to know why we're stuck here, and what's going on?"

"It's a long story," Sara warned.

"Well … I think we have the time," Sofia pressed.

Sara nodded, understanding. "What do you remember?"

"I don't remember anything. The last I know, I was in Las Vegas. And then I woke up here on the couch with a blinding headache. I don't even know how long I was unconscious."

"Then I guess we'll start at the beginning," Grissom said. "And we'll tell you all we know."

Grissom began by telling her about the case in Las Vegas, how the team had been summoned to the scene in the desert to help Brass with the grid search, and how Grissom had called Sara for help. He told her of the heat, feeling faint, and how they had then all woken up in the dry field a few miles away, before relating to her the details of everything that had happened since. Sofia listened as he laid it all down: their failed trek up the road for help, then finding her by the hillside and their decision to go for aid. She looked troubled as they told her about her injuries, but her expression turned to utter disbelief as Sara took over the story, telling of her hike up the road with Nick and Warrick, and hesitantly relating everything they had seen at the town. Even as she said it she knew how ridiculous it sounded, and was not in the least surprised by Sofia's reaction.

"So … let me get this straight," she said firmly. "You're seriously telling me that we all woke up in the middle of nowhere, that civilisation has been obliterated by a pandemic, that you think we're in a parallel world, but that _I'm_ the one with the head injury?"

Her eyes bored into Sara as if she had lost her mind, but prepared for this, Sara remained calm. She stood, and fetched the newspaper from where they had hidden it in the bottom drawer. She slid it across the table.

"I know how bizarre it sounds," she said. "I said all the exact same things to Nick when we were in town. But this is what we saw, and it's why we didn't tell you before now."

Sofia stared at the headline, dead silent. They gave her a long moment take it in.

"When you feel strong enough we'll take you into town," Grissom said. "You can see for yourself."

Sofia was speechless. She stared at the newspaper, reading and turning pages, and then looked up to Sara as if hoping that it was a joke. But Sara did not laugh.

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," Sofia said, still staring at them.

Sara had no answer.

"All right," she said, taking a deep breath and slipping into detective mode, "Take me back a step. Tell me exactly where you found me."

"Just outside," Grissom replied. "Over the rise."

"If you want to grab your shoes we can show you," Sara offered, sympathising with her need to get her head around it.

"Thanks," Sofia said, nodding and moving to stand.

"Bring your weapon," Grissom said to her. "No one steps outside of this house unarmed. I'll leave a note for Catherine."

It was still dark outside, the first ray of light touching the eastern horizon, the world still a haze of pre-dawn shadows. Sara shone her torch ahead as they led Sofia up the rise behind the barn, and over the other side to the far slope where they had found her. She stopped as they reached the spot, and shone her light down on the dusty, dry ground.

"You were here on your side," Sara said gently. "You were bleeding from a head wound, Catherine and I examined you and found the bruises to your body. There was no one else in sight."

Sofia still looked puzzled. "May I have the light?"

Sara offered it to her. Sofia used it to examine the ground, and Sara knew she was searching for any sign of blood, any clues as to what might have happened. She slowly made her way up the slope, looking increasingly disturbed as she found nothing.

At last she stopped.

"There's nothing here. There's no sign at all."

"I know," Grissom replied, nodding sadly. "We can't explain it yet. We can't explain how any of us woke up here."

"But at least when you woke up you were okay," she pointed out.

"We weren't okay," Sara said, moved to be honest. "When we woke we were all sick. We all vomited several times, felt dizzy, and dehydrated…"

"But these marks on me," Sofia said, looking worried, "these bruises. You didn't have those?"

"No, we didn't," Grissom agreed quietly.

She only looked even more distressed, and after a moment Grissom took pity on her.

"Let's sit down," he said.

He took her elbow and sat her down on the hillside with Sara.

"We may not know what happened, but you're going to be fine," he told her. "You've come a long way already. I know the situation's daunting, but we're all going to get through it together."

"You don't know that," Sofia said, turning on him with a firm eye. "And that's easy for you to say when you're not the one going through it. You're a scientist and you know the numbers on this as well as I do. You tell me I was unconscious for hours, for a whole day, and that's too long for a concussion. If it had been just that I would've woken in minutes. Any longer than that and we're talking about a serious head injury, that something's badly wrong. The chances are I have a brain injury, that I'm bleeding in the brain right now. Injuries like that build up pressure in the skull over time, and without surgery, I'll –"

"Sofia –" Sara swiftly cut in and put an arm around her shoulders, holding her. She spoke gently. "- I know you're scared, but I'm going to tell you the truth, okay? You're right – we may not know for sure that you're fine, and we're all scared. If there was anything we could do right now to get you to a hospital, to get that assurance, you'd be there. But as scary as it is and as much pain as you're in, the science is positive. The key symptom of any bleeding on the brain is discharge from the nasal passages or the ears. We've been monitoring you closely ever since we found you and there's been none. Another symptom is seizures and you haven't had any of those either. And you're talking to us right now without any obvious sign of cognitive impairment or deficiency. In short, there's no conclusive evidence that it's that serious, or that your life is in danger. There are a lot of reasons why the human body can shut down like that – cold, or pain – and we don't know that you weren't simply asleep. Your system might have just been in shock for a while, needed some time. I firmly believe you're going to be okay."

"And if I'm not?" Sofia asked, searching Sara's eyes.

It was a rare admission, but Sara could not blame her for being afraid, with everything they had lobbed onto her shoulders in the last five minutes.

"If you're not, we'll take care of you," Sara replied, still holding her. "We're _not_ going to leave you with this, and we _will_ look after you, whatever happens. I promise, okay? You're going to be fine, and we'll help. You just need to be honest with us – tell us how you're feeling, when you're in pain, and we'll handle it, okay? If you'll be brave, we'll be brave."

It was a hard thing, to reassure Sofia when she was probably exactly right. The period of unconsciousness was not normal, and Sara knew it. But she was damned if she was going to give up, to look the other way and pretend not to notice. She had vivid memories of too many people looking the other way from her own pain and injuries when she was a child, and knew too much how it felt to hurt alone, with no one to lean on or offer a kind hug. She was not going to do that to anyone else. And she knew living in that kind of fear and vulnerability was something Grissom had never experienced.

"Thanks," Sofia whispered, wiping quickly at her eyes.

"You're welcome," Sara said kindly. She rubbed her back. "Why don't we go back, get in the warm, and get some breakfast, hmm?"

"Sure."

They helped her to her feet, and by the time they reached the kitchen door, where they found Catherine reading the note they had left, she had composed herself, and it was a while before any of them mentioned the subject again.

XXX

After their discussion with Sofia, Sara related most of what had happened in private to Catherine, who merely commented that it sounded like she had taken it much better than she herself had, but seemed relieved that it was now all out in the open. The strange thing was how much Sara's moment of kindness seemed to strengthen Sofia. It was as if now she had finally expressed her fears, and been reassured, she felt able to deal with them, and swiftly bounced back to tackle their problems head on with the same no-nonsense LVPD zest that Sara had not seen from her in days.

They were pouring themselves bowls of cereal with long-life milk when Nick and Warrick came down. Dressed in their boxers and t-shirts, they yawned as they meandered in, looking still half asleep.

"Morning," Catherine said brightly.

"Hey," Nick replied.

He rubbed his eyes, then stopped suddenly in his tracks as he took in the scene.

"Damn," he said, pausing.

Sara saw what had caught his eye – herself, Catherine and Sofia had all borrowed clothes from the wardrobe, and had traded their jeans for skimpy shorts, exposing their long bare legs. Nick blinked, and Warrick looked suddenly awake, a smile pulling at his lips.

"You found some clothes, then," he observed.

"Like what you see?" Catherine said airily, giving them a flirtatious look.

"Would you be offended if we did?" Warrick replied, casting another glance at her as he went to grab a bowl.

"Eyes off," Grissom said firmly, shooting them a reproving look.

"Don't you dare lecture us," Nick said, amused. "We're not the ones who whisked Sara off into a haystack yesterday."

"Exactly," Warrick added, sitting down. "You're not exactly the epitome of self-control here."

Grissom had no come-back.

Feeling herself go red, Sara sat down, trying not to smile.

"Can we keep this on topic, please?" she asked.

"Sure," Nick said, still looking amused. "Only, what is the topic?"

"Town," Sofia said, joining them with a determined look in her eye. "We need to go take a look."

The men's expressions halted as they looked at her, sensing a dramatic change.

"We told her," Grissom supplied, answering their questioning look.

Nick nodded, slightly awkward. "You okay?" he asked her.

"I'm fine," she replied. "But I think we should go today. Hanging around here isn't doing us any favours. We need more information."

"Someone slept well last night," Warrick quipped.

But Sofia wasn't in the mood for jokes, and her firm detective's eyes stared him down.

"You realise it's a long way?" Sara said. "When we went, it took us four or five hours to walk there. In the sun, you'll feel it."

"You need to be sure you're up for it," Warrick said. "Once we're out there, there's no easy ride home. Know what I mean?"

"Maybe we should wait a few days," Nick said, trying to be kind. "See how you're feeling."

"I feel fine," Sofia said. "A headache is neither here nor there."

They argued for a moment, but in the end Nick and Warrick didn't put up much of a fight. Sara sensed that like her, they were secretly tired of sitting around, and only tried to talk her out of the idea out of concern for her medical state, rather than because they thought it was a bad suggestion. Sofia quickly talked them around, to the point where half an hour later they were all dressed back in their work clothes and CSI vests, and were ready to go, eager to get as far as they could before the sun rose high.

Knowing what lay ahead, this time the hike did not bother Sara. They walked the three bikes with them, hoping to pick up another three in town so they could ride back, and the relaxing pace under the fresh blue morning sky meant Sara actually felt quite relaxed for the first time in days. Warrick led the way, sharing a joke with Catherine beside him, and at the back of the pack Sara put on her sunglasses, and then deliberately hung back with Sofia to talk with her alone.

"Can I ask you something?" she voiced.

"Sure," Sofia replied, looking at ease. "What is it?"

"A few days ago, when we were in the bathroom, you asked me about Catherine. Why did you ask that?"

Sofia sighed, the memory evidently unpleasant for her. But unlike the last time Sara had asked, this time she didn't hesitate to answer honestly.

"It was no big deal," she said. "It's just that when you guys asked me what happened, what was the last thing I remembered, the last thing I remember is actually Lindsey. I thought it best not to tell Catherine that."

"Lindsey?" Sara prompted, confused.

"Yeah, her daughter," Sofia replied. "I actually wasn't scheduled to work that day, but Brass called me at home after you disappeared. He asked for my help, said the media had got wind of your disappearance and he asked me to do him a favour and go pick her up from school before she found out by other means. I drove to the school and got her pulled from class, and I told her. She didn't take it well. She broke down in my arms in the principal's office."

Sara nodded, able to imagine it. "Lindsey lost her dad when she was young, and you know Catherine lost her father last year. That family's had a lot of pain. In some ways, Catherine's all she has."

"Yeah, so I found out," Sofia said sadly. "Anyway, I drove her to Catherine's mom's house, so she was safe there for the time being. The court's probably given her temporary custody by now."

"And that's the last thing you remember?"

"Basically, yes. I know I left the house and drove out to join Jim, but I don't remember getting there. And I have no recollection of what happened. I do know that they were panicking – you'd disappeared from right under the noses of a dozen officers, and everyone in PD was getting enlisted to help. My whole team in homicide got called in. But I don't know anything more than that."

"And then you disappeared," Sara realised, her mind piecing the picture together. "They must be freaking out by now."

"I think they were freaking out even before I went missing," Sofia answered.

Sara let out a breath, her mind spinning. For the first time she had an inkling of what must be happening back in Vegas. Her heart panged for Greg and Brass, who she knew would both be feeling it, and for Lindsey and their families who would be terrified for their fate. And her years as a CSI enabled her to imagine the rest. PD would no doubt be thinking that they had met with foul play, been hurt or abducted, and by now their whole lives would be open to the inspection of the detectives' division. Their houses would be searched for clues, their medical records and phone logs examined, and by now, days later, hope of finding them alive would begin to dissipate. They would know by now that something was seriously wrong, and would not be expecting to find them alive.

Sara sighed, now able to fully understand why Sofia had avoided their questions.

"Don't tell her," Sofia said.

Sara shook her head. "I won't."

It took Sara another mile before she was able to shake off the depressing feeling the conversation had left her with, but Sofia, who had had several days to process the information, seemed upbeat. They re-joined the pack, who had stopped to wait for them when they realised how far behind they had fallen, and Nick, who mistook this for Sofia feeling unwell, offered to give her a piggy-back for a stretch.

"You're offering to carry me?" she asked, looking thoroughly amused.

"Just thought it might help to take the strain off for a bit," he said. "Take it easy, you know?"

Sofia glanced him up and down.

"What, you think I'm not strong enough or something?" he said, mocking offence. "Come here, come on –"

He took control, halting her and taking her water bottle from her hand.

"Give that to Sara –"

He bent over in front of her, and Sofia, grinning ear to ear, climbed on. Nick looped a hand under her thighs and picked her up with macho ease.

"Piece of cake," he declared cheerfully.

On his back, Sofia looked as if she was thoroughly enjoying herself, and though Catherine slipped Sara a meaningful look, it was a testament to how worried they all felt for Sofia that not one of them cracked a joke. In the end, it was Sara who took the brunt of Nick's good humour, when they passed the first sign of a farm, several miles on and nearing the edge town, and Nick nodded to a barn down in the valley.

"Whoa, watch out, there's a haystack down there," he jibed.

"Someone grab those two before they get tempted," Warrick added.

Sara smiled. "How long is this joke going to go on?"

"Oh, I think it'll be a while yet," Nick said, teasing her.

But he touched her shoulder as he said it, and she knew he meant it affectionately. Sara did not protest – far preferring the jokes over all the other possible sources of discussion, including their ever worsening predicament, or Sofia's still possible death. If she wasn't laughing, she would be having a breakdown, and she suspected all the others felt the same.

They reached the town four and a half hours after they first set off, and when they descended the hill into the small settlement Sara judged from the sun that it was nearing midday. The town looked different in daylight, somehow less spooky than it had been in her previous trip, though it looked every bit as abandoned as it had before.

They wandered into the town, drifting to a stop near the centre.

Catherine looked shocked, staring around mute at the damage.

"Here I was hoping you were exaggerating," she said quietly.

"I wish we were," Warrick replied.

The humour from the day abruptly vanished as Sara felt their situation again pressing in around her.

"This doesn't look good," Grissom said, looking equally troubled.

Sara said nothing.

"We didn't get a good chance to look around properly last time," Nick said. "We pretty much just grabbed the drugs and food and headed back."

"Then we should look around this time," Grissom agreed. "But bear in mind this place is tainted – don't touch anything at all with your bare hands."

"We should look for a map or a town name," Catherine suggested, visibly trying to pull herself together. "Figure out where the hell we are."

"There's no need," Sofia said, voice ominously soft.

"Why's that?" Grissom asked idly.

"Because I know where we are," Sofia confessed. "And you're right – this isn't our Nevada."

XXX

"What?" Nick asked.

"How do you know?" Catherine demanded.

"Because I was here last week," Sofia answered. "I arrested a drug dealer and took him in to PD. We're about twenty miles north of Vegas. This road continues out to the highway. Take a left and you'll find your way back. But it looks different to when I was here."

"Well we don't know the damage wasn't done quickly," Catherine said. "It could've been a riot, some kind of event."

"That's not what I mean," Sofia replied, looking scared. "At first glance this town looks identical, but the details are different. I'm sure several of these houses weren't here , and that service station definitely wasn't."

She pointed to a dilapidated building with petrol pumps outside the other end of town. It was faded, wrecked, and there was no way it had been built in the last week.

"Are you sure?" Sara asked.

"Yeah, positive," Sofia replied, grave.

Catherine looked as if she was holding out hope that she was wrong.

"So you're saying this is some kind of other world?" Nick asked. "A parallel universe?"

Sofia stopped short of saying it, but said instead, "We need to be careful. Something bad's happened here."

"Well whatever battle they fought, it's clear they lost," Catherine said, shaking her head at the scene.

"We should take a look around," Grissom said.

They split up. Sara went with Grissom back to the shops, entering through the open door to the pharmacy where they had stopped on their first trip. She watched as he took in the scene, studying it with the eye of CSI in much the same way as she had done with Nick and Warrick days earlier. She stood just inside the door, watching through the windows as Nick entered a store with Sofia, and as Catherine and Warrick each headed for a separate house.

She gave Grissom several long moments before she said anything.

"What do you think?" she asked.

He looked up from the counter where he had retrieved a handful of invoices from a drawer. Glasses on, he had studied them with a tinge of fear evident in his eyes.

"I'm not sure," he replied. "What do you think?"

"I think we might have reason to be afraid," she admitted softly, feeling it beginning to twist in her chest. "For a lot of reasons."

He nodded, and she wandered to the counter to stand with him.

"The only thing I can think of is to go to Vegas," he said honestly, looking helpless. "That should tell us conclusively, one way or the other. But the risks, if this _is_ true …"

"We may be lucky to get out alive," Sara agreed.

She thought of Lindsey back in Vegas, vulnerable and hoping for Catherine's safe return, and the incalculable risk of exposing themselves to the disease if they chanced it.

"And yet on the other hand, to stay here …" Grissom went on, trailing off.

"I don't think we can," Sara said sadly. "This feeling of limbo, of not knowing, it's going to crush us all, sooner or later. We have to know, one way or the other, and manage the risk as best we can."

Grissom nodded. "And at the very least we need to know if there's a working hospital. If there's something we can do for Sofia …"

"I know," Sara agreed.

She saw it in his eyes; that he also did not believe a single word of the assurance they had given Sofia that morning. Sofia was probably in trouble, in even more trouble than the rest of them – and she knew it.

Suddenly Sara felt overwhelmed, and sighing, she leaned on the counter, rubbing her eyes.

Grissom reached across for her shoulder.

"We'll be fine," he said, squeezing. "At least we're together."

Sara nodded; she was at least glad for that.

"Come on," he said. "I think we need to speak with the others."

He put his arm around her, and together they walked morosely to the door. The bell tingled as they opened it, and they stepped back outside into the sunshine to find the others, and face their fate.

* * *

_I wrestled with about three different endings to this chapter, and what might happen to them when they reached this town, but in the end, I played it safe with this one. I think the characters have enough pain to deal with right now without me adding more. But I did enjoy writing this chapter and just the range of emotions that Sara goes through in trying to deal with it all. I like seeing her in that strong role of reassuring Sofia, and taking control, yet also being vulnerable with Grissom and joking with the others. And having Nick piggy-back Sofia was just a guilty pleasure, because in all honesty, who wouldn't mind being carried by Nick? Anyhow, next up ... Vegas. Hope you guys are still liking this. ;)_


	8. Chapter 8

They left within the hour. Warrick scrounged three more bikes, and though Sofia joked that she should arrest him for larceny, and breaking and entering, she climbed on with a smile. They rode out to the other side of town to find the highway, and at its junction – where a lonely signpost read "_Las Vegas, 20 miles_", they turned left.

It was a beautiful day, the type of blissful weather that Sara had always missed when working grave. The sky was a mesmerising shade of blue, the warm sun casting a shadow of her bike gliding along underneath her, the desert around them suddenly taking on a rugged beauty. Sara felt a ray of hope as she rode along beside Grissom, as if the road was her guiding her back to a sorely missed reality. Perhaps, everything would be okay. It was possible the newspaper was a spoof item, some kind of ridiculous joke they had run afoul of, possible that it had all been a bizarre misunderstanding. Maybe, when they reached Vegas they would be rescued, and everything would be okay. But as they rode along and they quickly picked up speed – the flat landscape perfect for cycling – she felt her positivity waver. Even for a desert Nevada highway, it was quiet. Too quiet.

Ahead of her, she saw Nick glance over his shoulder at the highway behind them.

"It's quiet," he called out. "I thought we would've seen a car by now. A highway transport truck or something."

"Maybe it's just the time of day," Warrick suggested. "Not too much traffic early morning. Most long haul transport happens overnight."

Sara glanced behind her, and saw the miles of dead straight road stretching out behind them. It was a lonely sight.

"Let's just keep going," Grissom said calmly. "There's no point speculating, we'll know soon enough."

"Yeah, I know," Nick said. "Don't count your chickens, right?"

It seemed to Sara like a pessimistic choice of phrase, but before she could comment he had rolled ahead to join Sofia. Sara allowed herself to look around the landscape, and began to notice other things beyond the beauty of rugged Nevada: besides the road being eerily deserted, it was covered in places with fine sprinkles of desert sand, as if a wind had blown it over, and as if there had been no vehicles to blow it back. She would have expected to see tyre marks going through, yet there were none. It was odd.

She glanced to Grissom, and saw from his studied gaze of the landscape that despite his words of calm, he was as alert as she was. She took a deep breath, vowing to steady her nerves.

They rode for miles before the road finally began to slope upwards, and Sara's keen CSI eye spotted a car ahead in the distance.

"We've got a vehicle!" she shouted.

She pointed off into the brush, where the faded red sedan lay partially hidden by scrubland. It looked like it had veered straight off the road, the front end buried in a bush. The paintwork and licence plate were faded.

Sara rolled to a stop beside Nick, her legs aching.

"Looks like an accident," he said, putting the stand down on his bike.

"Not a recent one," Sara added. She spotted that the branches of the bush it had crashed in had grown through the twisted metal. The car had evidently been there for some time – months at least.

Nick made to move, but spotting something else, Sara quickly grabbed his arm.

"What?" he prompted, confused. "You don't want to look?"

But Sara's mind was racing far ahead, making quick connections, and she had to steady herself to explain.

"There's a body in the front seat," she replied.

XXX

Grissom intervened. Swiftly summing up the situation as quickly as she had, he held up a hand to pause them.

"No one step any closer," he ordered.

She heard the tremor in his voice, and knew straightaway that he was thinking the same thing she was. Looking unnerved, he walked around the car, keeping a careful radius of ten yards between himself and the vehicle. Sara moved with him, and through the passenger side window saw the body come into view. It had been picked clean by insects and scavengers, old torn clothes hanging on a near skeleton. It looked like a woman, but ominously to Sara, she was still strapped in, and the car did not look that crumpled.

"Doesn't look like a road fatality," Catherine said, voicing the thought for her. "Crash doesn't look consistent with a serious injury."

"It looks relatively intact," Sofia said, circling with them.

"Natural causes, you think?" Nick suggested.

There was a faint trace of hope in his voice – one which Sara couldn't bear to dispel.

"Doubt it," Sofia said, who evidently had no such reservations. "That body's been here for months. PD should have picked up this up by now. The fact that they haven't is significant."

"It's in clear view of the highway," Warrick added. "No reason they should miss it."

"Exactly," Sofia replied. "Which means –"

"That maybe they haven't picked it up because they can't," Grissom finished for her.

Catherine nodded, looking suddenly grave.

"You're talking about the pandemic," she said. "That it wasn't investigated because PD no longer exists?"

She paused.

"Are we seriously suggesting that?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Sofia said quickly. But she glanced each way around the desert, and her eyes fell back on the road. There were still no cars.

"Well we'll soon know," Sara said, trying to sound brave. "Vegas is just over that hill. It should tell us, one way or the other. We won't need to hypothesise."

"But let's just say this is the plague," Warrick said worriedly. "And Vegas is just over that rise. Do we really want to go there? If this is all true, the dumbest thing we can do right now is head for a city or populated area."

"We need to know either way," Catherine said. "Like we discussed back in town."

Sara nodded in agreement, but did not feel good about it. They had sat down in town and spoken at length about their next step, and they had all agreed that though it was risky, they had to find out the truth. But now it was here, and she was barely a mile away from whatever was waiting for them, she felt her heart begin to beat with trepidation. Something was not right.

"We won't touch anything," Sofia reiterated. "If we keep our hands to ourselves we should be fine."

"And if it looks bad, we don't have to go into the town," Grissom added. "We should be able to see from just over the hill what's happening. There won't be any need to go closer."

"You're talking like it's a done deal," Catherine said. "You know this may just be coincidence?"

"I don't know," Warrick said darkly. "I have a fair bit of experience with coincidence, and it doesn't look like this."

But Catherine had already moved to fetch her bike, and did not hear him. They proceeded down the road with renewed caution, Sara's senses peeled for any traffic or abnormality, but the feeling of deep unease in her chest only grew. She saw Grissom look at her several times, but said nothing. A short way ahead they rode through a cutting and emerged on the other side with a full view down into the valley of Vegas below.

Sara stopped, brakes screeching to a halt, not knowing which way to look first.

It was utter devastation. Las Vegas technically was still present, but it was a mere shell of a city, like an animal that had shed its skin and moved on. It was lifeless, the sprawling suburbs and towering casinos in the distance devoid of any light or movement, the city strangely grey despite the bright sunlight. Cars lay abandoned in city streets, and down the road ahead of them, an old military roadblock was visible. Several of the barricades had blown down or been knocked over, and it seemed that whoever had occupied it was long gone. But that was not the worst. The worst sight of all was outside the city edge, where a sprawling mass graveyard was visible. Row upon row of white crosses stood bright in the scorching sun, and Sara did a quick sum in her head and estimated there to be thousands. Farther on, behind them, an excavator lay abandoned on a pile of dirt, and the large rectangle of soil was a different colour to the rest. She felt a lump in her throat, and knew what it was – a mass grave.

Nick swore.

"Oh my God," Grissom breathed.

"Well there's your answer," Warrick said softly.

The deathly silence stretched into the vacant air.

Sara knew she should turn away, but all the logical reasons for doing so suddenly abandoned her. She felt the sight tugging at her, as if her heart valves had tied themselves into stinging knots. So many crosses, as far as her eye could see …

Catherine moved, beginning a solemn ride down the hill, and without thinking, Sara followed. At the road block they wove through the fallen barricades, and headed like a magnet for the make-shift cemetery.

A long line of hazard tape blocked their entrance, periodic warning signs denying them entrance, but Catherine dropped her bike and ducked under without hesitating. She made her way along the lines of graves, and Sara saw the white crosses had names written on them in black marker. She knew they had been the first casualties; buried hastily, but still with care. Later, when the numbers grew, the mass grave had been dug by those unlucky enough to be left. And now, there was no sign of anyone at all. Had a single person survived?

She stared down at the crosses, immobile as Catherine continued to walk transfixed amongst them. She heard a clatter as more bikes were dropped into the dust, and then Grissom's hand around her elbow. Warrick moved ahead to Catherine's side, where she had stopped a few rows in, staring at one grave in particular.

Warrick's eyes widened.

"Griss?" he said softly.

There was something in the way his eyes passed over Sara that made her move, and though she didn't think she could bear any more, she went to look.

Her eyes dropped to the name on the cross, and she froze, stunned.

_Sara Sidle. _

* * *

_A/N: Upping the pace, now. Can't believe how long I dithered over whose name to put on that grave. Poor Grissom - something to think about there. Wanted to put a lot more into this chapter, but in the end it didn't fit, so it'll have to wait for the next one - sigh. Thanks to those who keep reading and encouraging me, I hope you're still finding this interesting and not too abominably slow LOL. _


	9. Chapter 9

_Shifting gears ..._

* * *

Sara stared down at her name, utterly speechless. Her mind groped for a possible explanation – perhaps it was not her, but someone who shared her name – but the thought did not last. Below her neatly written name were the letters 'LVPD' in tiny writing, and they left no room for debate. At the base of the cross a bouquet of long dead and shrivelled flowers lay propped up against the stem. Someone had missed her.

"Well," Nick said quietly, after a long pause, "I guess that answers all our questions, then."

Sara shook her head, stunned out of her reverie.

"How does that answer _anything_?" she demanded. "I am _not_ dead."

"Not in our reality," Warrick replied, trying to be gentle. "But it looks like you are in this one."

Sara's head spun; they were back to the parallel universes theory, but as hard as it was to digest, she knew there was no escaping it this time. The grave at her feet, the cemetery and devastation rotting around them had not happened in the space of a few days. And the body at her feet was not her, but a parallel universe twin. Wherever their Las Vegas was, their own home, they were a long way from it now.

She felt sick. The sight of her grave clutched at her heart, tugging her down with it.

"It means this plague's no joke," Warrick said sadly. "And neither's our situation. It all actually happened."

"It's hard to believe it's all real," Nick said. "You know, we must've run into something sinister when we were out in that desert with Brass. Stumbled into something no physicist would have expected in their wildest dreams. Remember how we all felt dizzy, saw that light shimmering? Maybe it was some kind of rift in space-time, like a tear that we got caught up in."

"And if it was, now we're stuck on the wrong side," Warrick finished. "With no way of getting back."

Catherine held up a hand, looking flustered.

"Just stop," she said. "Let's just slow it down a second –"

Sara felt Sofia's eyes on her, silently probing.

"Let's go sit down," Sofia ruled.

Sara felt her take her arm, and immediately tried to shake her off, her attention still focused on her grave. She could not walk away; she had to make sense of this.

"You go ahead, I'll catch up."

But Sofia's grip tightened. She looped an arm instead around Sara's waist, urging her away.

"Bring him," she said, throwing a pointed look to someone.

She led Sara away, turning and walking her between the crosses back to the hazard tape. The strength in Sara's legs seemed to have vanished; she felt wobbly, trembling as if the temperature had suddenly dropped.

"It's okay," Sofia said, holding her. "We'll go sit down."

She lifted the tape, and then walked her out past where their bikes lay strewn to a patch of dry grass beyond. Sara sat down, sinking her head into one hand, not wanting to meet their eyes.

"It's okay," Sofia repeated, arm around her.

"You want some water or something?" Nick asked, crouching beside them.

Sara shook her head; water was useless.

"I think she just needs a minute," Sofia said gently.

Nick nodded. His hand, too, settled on her back, rubbing gently.

"I know it's a lot to take in," he said kindly. "We'll just rest for a bit, hmm?"

Sara ignored them, and was glad when they didn't force her to talk, but accepted her silence. They simply sat with her, their comforting hands roving her back, and gave her time. After a while, thanks to their support, the pain lessened, and she sighed deeply, trying to expire the thoughts from her system.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping at an eye.

"Don't be," Nick replied. "You'd hardly be human if it didn't bother you. We probably shouldn't have walked in there in the first place. No good was ever gonna come of it."

Sara nodded, fully agreeing.

She lifted her eyes, wondering where Grissom was.

"They'll be along in a minute," Sofia said, reading her thoughts.

Sara glanced over shoulder, and saw him still at her gravesite, Catherine and Warrick's arms around his shoulders, Catherine talking earnestly in his ear.

"Give them a moment," Sofia advised.

Sara almost got up, no matter what Sofia said, but realised after a second that she was right. It looked like a private conversation, and as she weighed it up Catherine caught sight of her, and held up a few fingers, warning her to stay put. Sara nodded, and respectfully looked away.

The next few moments passed while they waited. Sara drank some of their water to stem her shaking – the liquid warm and glistening from their ride in the sun – and with it, her faintness eased. She passed the bottle to Sofia, who swallowed a pill drawn from the pocket of her jeans, and strangely, it was this sight more than anything else that brought Sara back to her senses. She knew she had to get it together. They still had problems much bigger than the death of her parallel universe twin.

At last footsteps heralded the return of the others, and Sara looked up as they joined them. Grissom looked like he just taken an emotional beating, but it was Catherine who reached her first. She pushed back her red hair and knelt in front of her, looking concerned.

"You okay?" she asked.

Her hand grasped Sara's shoulder.

"I'm fine," Sara said, nodding, and hoping she looked it.

"Don't worry about it, okay?" Catherine told her. "We'll be fine. Like we all said on the first day here, if we stick together, we'll come through."

Sara wondered vaguely where her strength came from – that peculiar ability Catherine had to deflect anything that life threw at her – but she tried to give a weak smile.

"I'm fine, Cat, really."

"You sure?"

She looked as if she doubted it, not quite convinced.

"I'm good," Sara replied.

She let go of her shoulder. "All right. We'll give you two a minute."

They retreated a short distance away, leaving her alone with Grissom. His expression was hard to read. He sat down in front of her, and though his eyes betrayed volumes – fear, terror and love in equal amounts – he seemed momentarily devoid of words. He took in her body language, as if assessing whether she really was okay, and when his mouth finally opened to check, she cut him off.

"I'm fine," she assured, nodding. "It was just a shock – but I'm okay."

She tried to give another smile, but he did not look relieved. He looked weary, as if he had just been dealt a lifetime of pain in five minutes.

"You all right?" she asked.

He nodded. "I'll be fine."

She raised an eyebrow, questioning.

"It's just …" He looked strangely remorseful. "A part of me wishes I hadn't called you onto this case. At least that way you would have been safe in Vegas. And I would've had the comfort of knowing that."

"Safe?" she queried. "You know as well as anyone that on this job, there's no such thing as safe. And there was no way you could have known, no way _any_ of us could have known what was waiting for us at that crime scene. There's no reason to feel guilty. And I would rather be here with you and know what's going on, than back at home scared to death that you're missing. And for the record, I'm not dead. Whoever's lying under that cross isn't me. I'm okay. We're _all_ okay. And at least now we have some answers – that's progress."

She said it positively, trying to stay upbeat, and when she smiled, his own mouth turned up at the edge, looking at her with love.

"We'll be fine," she reiterated. "There's nothing here that can harm us if we stick together."

He took her hand, fingers curling around hers, and with a mutual glance to the others to check they weren't watching, he leaned in. He took her lips softly with his, holding them for one blissful moment before drawing her into a hug.

It was an intimate embrace, close and comforting, and as she held him she felt a slight residual tension in his body that told her some of what he had suffered at her gravesite. She stroked his back, telling him it was okay, and he seemed to relax. When they parted, he kept her hand in his, and in the silence she began to hear snippets of conversation drifting down to them from where the others were huddled as a foursome.

"I don't think we can go back," Sofia said quietly. "They're in no shape to ride back right now –"

"And in any case it's pointless," Warrick said. "We came here for answers, and we still need a few more."

"We need to know if there's any survivors here, man," Nick said lowly. "We at least need to know that much, if anyone's gathered somewhere, or if it's total, you know?"

"Then we'll probably have to take a look around town," Catherine said. "See what's here."

"Well … I'm up for that if you are …"

Sara sensed that she was being relieved of the burden of decision-making, but it was a pleasant feeling. The suspicion that was proven correct a few minutes later when the others wandered back, and Catherine knelt down with a look of tactful diplomacy.

"You want to go into town," Grissom said, relieving her of the necessity of explaining.

"Only if you're up for it," she replied. "If you need some more time, it can wait. There's no rush."

"No, we're fine," Grissom said.

"Let's go," Sara added.

"Are you sure?" she asked. "If it's too much, say so now. Pride goes before a fall."

"We need answers," Sara reasoned. "The only place we might get those is in Vegas. There's no point turning back now without them, otherwise it's all been a waste."

Seconds later the decision was made, and half an hour later Sara was wondering what on Earth they had been thinking. The devastation was even worse than it had looked from the hillside, and the pain of riding through it, crushing. It was like a crime scene without end, the story laid out perfectly preserved for her to read, as if time had hit the pause button. Cars lay abandoned everywhere, some haphazardly mid-street, and most with their windows inexplicably smashed. Front doors on houses and shops were kicked in, the occasional mailbox knocked over, and everywhere were signs that the city was already being reclaimed by nature. Gardens were overgrown, grass long like a wild savannah, and everywhere weeds were growing without any restraint from the human populace. Worst of all were the bodies – the last citizens standing who hadn't been buried, their skeletal remains lying in the hot sun.

Sara tried to hold down her nausea.

"Looks like chaos broke out," Nick voiced, riding slowly along. "Riots, from the way everything's smashed – doesn't look like law and order held out for long."

"Mass panic," Catherine said, looking devastated. "Society breaks down, everyone would have been out to save themselves."

"Well they definitely had something to panic about," Warrick said fairly. "This bug didn't discriminate. Old, young, the fit and healthy … no one stood a chance."

"Civil unrest would have led to martial law," Sofia said. "Normal government gets suspended, a state of emergency declared, the military takes control of everything …"

"And I don't think even they lasted long," Grissom said, pausing to stare at another body on the kerb. Pieces of fatigues were still visible even through the decay.

Sara took a deep breath, not sure how much more she could take. Their decision to enter the disaster zone now seemed stupid beyond belief if the bug had been this lethal, and she came to wonder if Warrick had been right in the first instance – they should have turned around and headed for the hills as soon as they saw the cemetery.

They paused at an intersection, stopping in the middle to survey their options.

"Which way do you wanna head?" Warrick asked. "Further into town?"

"Is there much point, do you think?" Nick said. "It's probably just more of this. And I've gotta be honest, I'm not sure we're gonna find any survivors here. Whatever happened, we're a year too late."

"Maybe we should change our tactics," Catherine suggested. "Try to find some evidence instead."

"Some more newspapers?" Sofia asked. "They won't be recent, but if we can find some they might at least fill in the blanks. And there might be some signs around from the state of emergency, pamphlets or survival guides …"

"It's worth a shot," she agreed.

"Maybe we should split up," Nick suggested. "We can cover more ground that way, hopefully find what we need and get out of here sooner."

"Pairs?" Sara suggested, already glancing down the street for a likely destination.

"Perfect," Grissom agreed. "I'll go with Sara."

"We'll meet back here in an hour," Catherine said. "Don't be late."

They split up, each pair taking a different direction. Sara went back down a residential street with Grissom, while Nick and Sofia headed for the shops, and Warrick and Catherine down an industrial back street. Soon they disappeared from sight, and Sara tried to focus her mind on the task at hand. They headed up the driveway of a large house that looked comparatively intact.

"Remember, try not to touch anything," Grissom said. "Especially doorknobs and surfaces."

"I know," Sara reminded him. "They'll be crawling with germs."

They settled for kicking in the door instead, and began their long search for the elusive evidence. It was a strange thing to help herself to people's houses and possessions without any need for warrants or process, and it was a freedom that was both liberating and utterly depressing. She saw firsthand how people's lives had been turned upside down. One house had suitcases open and ready in the lounge, half-packed for an evacuation the residents had never made it to. Their bodies were not present and Sara could only suppose they were dead in the mass graves of the cemetery. Other houses they visited had items still on the stove, and one other, windows boarded up and guns left on the coffee table in a disturbing insight into the lawlessness which had taken the city.

"It looks like they were holed up here," Sara said, shaking her head at the boarded windows. "Trying to stay alive."

"To shut out the world," Grissom said. "Defend themselves against intruders."

"It's like everything fell apart, like civilization unravelled and regressed thousands of years back to the jungle. There's no cohesion or order, no society, it's every man for himself."

"Fear can make people do crazy things," Grissom said rationally. "Things they never would have dreamt of doing in any ordinary situation. But you know the human brain is conditioned to defend itself at all costs, even at the expense of those who were formerly friends or colleagues. I imagine that once the plague took hold, all civilised life fell away, leaving only a basic instinct for survival of the self."

"A battleground," Sara said, shaking her head. "It's terrifying to think about. What it must've been like to live through this, what they must have endured …"

"I know," Grissom replied sadly.

There was a melancholy look on his face, and she did not pursue the subject. Instead, she checked her watch.

"Our hour's nearly up," she said. "I'm going to duck next door, check one more house before we go back, okay?"

"All right," he said, engrossed in a pile of papers. "Be careful."

"I'll be right back," she said, passing him a smile.

She went back out front and jumped the low fence to the neighbour. It looked like one of the poorer houses in the street, with no discernible trace of anything much in the way of a garden, the paint on the weatherboards uneven and peeling in the sun. The front door was partially open, and she nudged it further with the barrel of her gun. It was dark inside, the windows boarded up like its neighbour, and she paused in the doorway, her eyes trying to adjust to the dim.

She took one step inside, and then heard a sharp click, and the cold barrel of a gun was pressed hard into her temple. A putrid masculine smell hit her nostrils.

"Don't move," a male voice said aggressively. "Stay still, and tell me who the fuck you are."

XXX

Several streets away, Catherine wheeled her bike alongside her as she headed down the quiet side street with Warrick. It looked like it had once been an industrial area, a street composed of various sized warehouses with fences covered in graffiti, but which had now been lost to the same lawlessness that had swept the rest of the metropolis. Rubbish lay still and faded in the gutters, and everywhere weeds had sprouted up in the cracks between the concrete. Most of the windows were smashed.

"Someone had a lot of anger to vent," Warrick said, as they passed one in which no glass remained. "I don't think there's a single pane of glass left intact in the whole of Vegas."

"Well I guess being crushed by a plague could do that to you," Catherine reasoned.

She stopped outside the shattered window, the glass glittering in the sun all over the pavement, and propped her bike up against the wall. This warehouse was as good a place as any other to start.

"Be careful," Warrick guided, taking her elbow as she carefully ducked between the shards of glass.

"I got it," she replied calmly.

She twisted through with relative ease, grateful for her flexibility that she had retained despite all the years that had passed since she had been dancing. She waited as Warrick joined her, and then, still not trusting that the city was entirely deserted, drew her gun from its holster.

A grubby desk stood in front of them, and they seemed to be in some of kind of mechanic's warehouse. The floor was dirty, the counter covered in oil stains, and a door behind seemed to lead to the workshop floor. She paused to look at a calendar, where a bikini-clad model straddled a motorbike.

"I don't know who she thinks _she's_ kidding," she observed, waving to her out-of-proportion breasts. "_Those_ sure aren't real."

"Well I won't hold that against her," Warrick said, looking as if he had no complaints.

They shared a smile, Catherine raising a flirtatious eyebrow – men, even Warrick, were all the same.

She wandered to the desk, spotting an old newspaper buried amongst some papers. She nudged them aside with the barrel of her gun.

"Bingo," she reported, spotting the headline which read 'State of Emergency Declared'.

Warrick didn't respond.

She looked up; he was dead still in the doorway to the back.

"Warrick? You okay?"

"Catherine," he said quietly. "Get down on the floor."

"What?" she asked.

Without warning, an explosion of gunshots hit the air.

XXX

Catherine had no time to think – suddenly everything happened at once. Warrick fired a shot off into the back room before he lunged sideways and grabbed her, knocking her to the safety of the floor.

Catherine breathed hard, inhaling a cloud of dust from a floor that hadn't been cleaned in months, and feeling a fine grain of glass in the back of her neck. She winced, grip tightening on her weapon as Warrick rolled off her, and ruthlessly raised his gun to fire again at a large man who emerged in the doorway.

He was half naked, his chest bare except for tattoos, wearing nothing but an old pair of dirty torn jeans, but there was no mistaking the deranged look in his dark eyes. His eyes seized Catherine just as Warrick downed with him with three more shots to his chest. The tattoos exploded with blood, the spatter swimming on the wall and calendar behind him, before he hit the floor with a dull thud.

Catherine threw herself up on her elbows, gripping her gun tight as more footsteps hit the air. She caught a glimpse of Nick and Sofia running up the path outside, guns drawn and faces ruthlessly hard just as a third figure ran through from the back, naked, a semi-automatic in his hand.

Sofia didn't hesitate – she sank three shots into his torso and killed him. He fell dead on top of his friend.

Silence fell as Sofia scrambled through the blown window, Nick behind her.

"Nick!" Warrick exclaimed, relieved.

"You both okay?" Sofia asked.

She did not holster her gun, but reached with her spare hand to pull Catherine to her feet.

"We're fine," Warrick said. "I think we're okay. The pricks ambushed us, we didn't even see them there –"

He was breathing hard, voice filled with panic.

"I know, they did the same to us," Nick said urgently, pulling them up. "Place is crawling with them, we've gotta get the hell out of here, fast –"

Catherine spotted blood on Nick's cheek, a fine trail running down the side of his face, but there was no time to discuss it.

"Lose the vests," Sofia ordered quickly. "If they see you're PD, we're dead."

Catherine threw down the zip on her vest, dropping it to the floor.

"We're gonna have to run to get Grissom and Sara," Nick said, slamming a new magazine into his gun. "We need to get to them before they do. If you see them, Cath, just shoot. Don't even hesitate. Rules don't apply here, anymore, okay? They're gonna catch us and kill us if they can, and they'll rape you and Sofia. Gangs are running this town now. We need to get Sara and Griss and get the _hell_ out of here."

"Hurry," Sofia said, looking impatient at the chat. "We have no time."

She ushered them through the broken window to the bright daylight outside. Catherine saw that Nick and Sofia had both lost their bikes, and didn't stop to collect hers, but ran with them. She kept her gun cocked, heart hammering with terror like she had never felt before, her fears kicking in gut survival instinct. Sofia avoided the main road, leading them instead at a run through the side streets, trying to run by stealth and without noise.

"Which way did they go?" Nick asked, as they paused at an intersection. "Did anyone see?"

"Down there," Warrick said, pointing to a residential street down which Sara and Grissom had rode earlier.

They renewed their run, Catherine's eyes flying in all directions as they hurried, glancing repeatedly over her shoulder to watch their rear, ready to fire at the slightest movement.

It was a pure miracle that Grissom and Sara had not gone far, and as she spotted their bikes propped up against the wall of a run-down house she felt a rush of relief.

"GRISSOM!" Nick bellowed, pelting up the path.

"SARA?" Warrick echoed.

But there was no response. Catherine saw the front door to the house was open, the inside dark, and her hope disintegrated into fear.

Nick burst inside, yelling Sara's name.

"_SARA?!"_

And then Catherine saw her, and her heart shattered.

Sara was on the floor in Grissom's arms, eyes closed, her body covered in blood as Grissom cradled her semi-conscious form. Her shirt was torn open and her jeans unzipped, and Grissom was staring down at her with tears of shock running down his cheeks.

Catherine saw the feet of a dead man poking out of the doorway of a far room, a pool of blood on the floor.

Catherine rushed forward. She could hardly bear to ask, but knew she had to.

"Was she raped?"

Grissom didn't reply; he barely seemed to notice them there, his eyes desperately running over the limp body in his arms.

"_Grissom_," Catherine said, seizing his shoulder.

At last he looked up, and his trembling eyes met hers.

"Catherine …" he said, shaking, "I killed him."

* * *

_Really surprised I actually finished this today, considering everything else I got stuck doing, but feeling good._ _Possibly cracking open some new fanfic territory here, but there you are, LOL. Poor Sara. Fingers crossed she's okay..._

_(BTW, would love to hear from anyone who can help me out with their intricate knowledge of CSI history. I know Sofia and Catherine have both used their guns to kill people on the show, but unsure if the others have. Does anyone remember? Thanks - Anna.)_


	10. Chapter 10

Catherine had little time to absorb his words as chaos renewed its assault on her senses. There were multiple dull thuds as Warrick threw open doors, rushing from room to room to clear the house, and at the front door Sofia barely glanced at Sara before dashing back outside. There was a clatter as she snatched up a bike and moved it quickly into the dark hallway, and a second clatter as Nick followed with the other, and then, face hard, she shut the door and threw the deadbolt, removing any trace of their presence from the street.

Darkness fell in the room, the few strips of light from around the boarded up windows falling like jail bars across the carpet. Catherine snapped on her pen light, shining the beam down on Sara. The fresh blood glowed under the beam, the spatter covering Sara's torn blouse, bra and white skin beneath.

"It's all clear," Warrick said, holstering his weapon as he returned.

"Seal the back door," Sofia ordered, nodding behind him.

Her voice carried such a natural tone of authority that Warrick immediately complied. Catherine returned her attention to Sara, her mind racing.

"Was she raped?" she repeated, eyes digging into Grissom. "Yes or no?"

He stared at her blankly.

"Yes or no?" she repeated, firm.

"No," he capitulated. "He tried, he had her pinned, but … I – I stopped him."

"Good," Warrick said viciously.

"How far did he get?" Catherine asked. "Did he get her underwear off?"

"Was there any contact?" Sofia asked, looking equally worried.

"No," Grissom replied. "He had her pinned, he was unzipping himself … I heard her screaming …"

Catherine nodded, and put a quick hand to his arm to stem him from staying the rest as she saw his distress rise. She looked back to Sara, examining her under the penlight, but couldn't see any lacerations to explain the blood.

"I don't think the blood's hers," she concluded, knowing it must be spatter from the victim.

"She looks badly beaten, though," Warrick observed. "She must've tried to fight him off."

"And lost," Catherine agreed. "But it doesn't look as though anything's fractured. She should be okay to move."

"She can't, Cath," Grissom interjected. "She's hurt –"

"We'll help," Sofia quickly assured. "We have to move, we can't stay here."

"We've got a gang of them on our tail," Nick told him. "They're gonna be here any second, guns loaded –"

Grissom's eyes suddenly honed in on the blood trickling from Nick's temple.

"What happened?"

"There's no time," Catherine cut in, reaching for Sara. She put a hand to her face. "Sara? Can you hear me?"

"I hear you," Sara replied weakly.

She did not open her eyes, and her head lolled against Catherine's hand.

"We have to move," she told her. "Can you sit up?"

Sara cringed, and reluctantly opened her eyes. They were clouded with pain and disorientation.

"Put your arm around me, I'll help," Catherine said, leaning down.

Sara's arm fell around Catherine's neck, and sliding her hands underneath her, Catherine pulled her up. Sara's head fell against her shoulder, wincing with agony.

"Hold on, you'll be fine," Catherine assured gently.

She held her as Grissom quickly buttoned her torn blouse, and zipped up her jeans. Sara weakly reached for his hand, and he gripped it with his own.

"Just try to stay conscious, we'll do the rest," he told her.

"Here, I'll take her," Nick said, moving forward to take her from Catherine. "I can carry her."

Footsteps sounded outside, the sound of someone running up the street toward them.

They froze.

"Shit," Warrick declared.

"Fucking little punks," Nick said. "Didn't take 'em long –"

He let go of Sara, ripping his weapon from its holster.

"We've gotta get them before they get us –"

But his hands shook, his face white and expression unhinged as a murderous panic swept his features. Sofia swiftly headed him off, immobilising him with a hand to his shoulder.

"Stay with Sara," she ordered. "Take cover out back, we'll meet you there."

"You think I'm leaving you with these dickheads?" Nick countered angrily. "Leave you to end up like her?"

He gestured to Sara, who was looking on with an expression of wild incomprehension. Catherine felt equally perplexed, but had no time to decipher it.

"Just do it," Sofia ordered. She nodded to Grissom. "Take them."

Grissom complied, and moved to quickly escort Sara and Nick to the back of the house. Once gone, Sofia hurried to the window to join Warrick and Catherine.

"What the hell was that about?" Warrick asked her.

"Just keep him away from them," Sofia replied, voice low. "I'll explain later."

Catherine felt a stab of worry, wondering what on Earth it was that Sofia and Nick had encountered on their search, what had caused them to flee in such a state of panic. But she had no time to think about it. Outside, the two men had paused by the mailbox, and her heart began to pound with fear.

"Have you ever shot someone?" Warrick asked.

"Yes," Catherine replied. She held her gun steady, having no qualms whatsoever. "You?"

"First time was ten minutes ago."

Catherine nodded. "That's probably a good thing. First time's the hardest. Good to get it out of the way."

"Yeah," he replied. "Right now I just hope we have enough ammo to make it out of the city."

It was a dire thought, but Catherine did not let herself ponder it, forcing herself to focus only on the present. Sofia moved to stand beside the door, gun ready in case they entered, and Catherine locked her gaze onto the men outside as they paused. One spat on the ground.

"Just keep walking," Warrick urged. "Keep moving …"

The man spat on the ground again, clearing something from his mouth. He turned on the spot, and his eyes fell on the house. A furrow appeared between his eyes.

Catherine gestured to Sofia, who nodded, ready.

And suddenly, as lightning quick as it had been before, all hell broke loose. The man pulled a handgun from the waistband of his jeans, and Catherine, realising in a split second what was about to happen, ducked back from the window just in time. A shot cracked through the air, and the bullet narrowly missed her, flying over her shoulder. Warrick's panicked eyes flew over her as he whirled to retaliate, rapidly firing back, and across the room Sofia threw open the front door, bursting out to challenge them. She felled one with a shot straight to the heart, and as the second changed aim toward her, Catherine opened fire, emptying her magazine into his chest.

He fell with an audible thud, lying dead on the sunny concrete.

Suddenly silence fell, the only noise in the room that of her and Warrick breathing hard.

"You okay?" he asked, glancing her over.

"Fine," she replied.

Seeing that he too was okay, she moved outside to join Sofia. She found her standing over the bodies, a pool of blood already forming underneath them.

"They both dead?" Catherine asked.

"Yeah," Sofia replied.

Catherine stared for a moment, feeling her pounding heart rate relax again. It was hard to know how to feel – it all felt so surreal – and she had seen too many dead bodies in her life to feel much of anything now. But their bodies held clues to their state; both were middle aged men, their clothes dirty and rank from months of wear, their faces unshaven and hair tangled, and she knew they had evidently been living rough for quite some time.

"They've probably lived like this for a while," Warrick said, reading her thoughts. "Must be some kind of animal instinct thing – it's like we trespassed onto their territory."

"I'll say," Sofia replied. "We've stirred up a nest of cold-blooded, deranged, drug-addled killers."

"Yeah, well, don't expect me to feel sorry for them," Catherine added bluntly.

It was impossible to feel sorry for a group of thugs who had just tried to kill them, and her blood boiled with anger – anger she could barely control anymore. She had first felt it days ago when she had first heard Nick's account of their attempted hike out, and it had grown to bursting point since. She had felt scared for Sofia, isolated and made helpless by their situation, terrified of what lay in store for them, and above all else, a powerful maternal devastation at being isolated from Lindsey. Grissom had known, and it was his statement to her that Lindsey would want her to keep a clear head, and do all she could, which had kept her sane and on her feet. Yet somewhere, in their home world, she knew Lindsey would have been told by now, and would be crying in her bedroom. It was a pain which she could no longer carry.

"You okay?" Warrick asked.

He put his hand to her shoulder, rubbing. She took a deep breath, struggling to hold it together.

"Don't give in yet," he said. "We need you."

Catherine didn't know if she had much strength left – but the others were all down, and she knew she had to find it. As she pulled herself together she saw Sofia slip another two pills from the pocket of her jeans, swallowing them down. She knew none of them could hold it together much longer, and they had to make the city limits before they fell apart completely.

"Let's just get the others," she said. "We need to keep moving."

They found the others in the backyard, Sara propped up against the back of the house, crying, and Nick next to her, pale and silent. Grissom looked relieved when Catherine returned with the others, unharmed.

None of them had the energy to ask questions, or to care about answers.

"Just start walking," Catherine said, wearily holstering her weapon. "One foot after another."

They helped the trio up – Sofia loaning Nick a hand, and Warrick lifting a shaking Sara – and minutes later, they had all disappeared over the back fence.

XXX

It was by far the worst day of Catherine's life. She had not appreciated how far they had come into Las Vegas until they had to struggle out again, injured and utterly drained. They climbed wearily over the back fence, and out to the quiet residential street on the other side, and then began the tiresome walk out. Catherine felt exhausted beyond belief – physically beaten from the hours of hiking and cycling they had already done that morning, and mentally shattered from everything that had happened since. They were stuck, abandoned in a world which was unrecognisable and unwelcoming, with what seemed like no hope of ever going home. That was bad enough, but then they had been chased and nearly killed, Sara assaulted, and all of them traumatised, and now had to somehow find a safety which she doubted she would ever feel again.

The pain of it all grew stronger as her adrenaline subsided into numbing nothingness, and soon she felt the tears of hopelessness hot in the backs of her eyes. She walked on autopilot, her mind picking a direction to the edge of town, and blindly following it, and the silence around her told her every one of her friends was feeling at least as bad. Grissom walked beside Sara, a weary arm around her shoulders, Sara's sniffs still audible from her crying, and yet none of them had much energy to comfort her. Nick walked alone, having shrugged off a caring hand that Sofia had tiredly placed on his shoulder several blocks before, raising a hand and telling her irritably to just leave him alone, and Sofia, rejected from her offer of kindness, did not bother to give it again. Catherine was faintly aware that she was popping the painkillers like candy – her hand slipping into her pocket every few blocks - and knew she was hurting bad from a journey they had been irresponsible in ever letting her take in the first place, but it was far too late to do anything about it now. Even Warrick was hurting, tiredly putting one foot after the other, shaking his head silently at Catherine's query as to whether he was okay.

They walked until Catherine thought her legs would drop off, and then beyond until she thought she would collapse altogether. They reached the edge of town and kept going, following the road back up the hill which they had first come down hours before, and then past the abandoned car to the deserted highway. The sun set, but Catherine paid no attention to it, the power of nature now seeming so menacing and taunting, playing carelessly with their lives, isolating her from her family and her happiness which she would never see again. When night fell the miles of straight desert highway stretched out before them, and they walked in darkness. Catherine was aware at some stage that she was crying, the pain of all of it on top of her physical exhaustion breaking her, Lindsey's face flitting in and out of her mind. No one comforted her, and she didn't think they even noticed in their own haze of defeat. They stopped mutely once when Grissom silently drifted off to a salt bush to urinate, but no one spoke, and several miles on Warrick cracked – breaking a low lying branch off a dead tree as they passed, and snapping it to toothpicks before throwing it violently out into the desert. Sara's eyes jerked up at this behaviour, and there was a cold distrust to her expression that made Catherine glad that neither had any energy to voice their thoughts, but somehow, they walked on.

The miles passed in silence until they finally, hours later, reached the turn off and descended into the small town they had left that morning, and feeling at last a vague semblance of safety, Catherine sat down outside the pharmacy, utterly spent. She heard a tingle of the bell as Sofia went inside, and faintly sensed Sara head in with Grissom a moment later, but did not care. Across the street Warrick and Nick headed into the dark grocery store, and she was just drifting off into a mental oblivion when it was snapped by a cacophony of noise; it sounded like a shower of tins were being thrown across the store, and was joined a second later by a smashing of glass. The front window of the store was shattered in the corner. Catherine could not see which of them it was, but her mind fell somehow onto Warrick. She had no energy left to feel sympathy, was powerless to relieve him of the pain which she felt too – the devastation of being robbed of the rest of her life in the Vegas she knew, robbed of everything she loved.

The glass smashed again, and she felt a hand on the back of her shoulder. It was Grissom, tugging at her shirt.

"Come inside," he said, eyeing the guys' behaviour with concern. "Leave them be."

She forced her aching body up, and let him escort her indoors. Sara was already settled on the carpet, leaning against the counter, a box of painkillers clutched in her hand, and nearby at the shelves Sofia was tearing a fresh syringe from its wrapper. A vial of an injectable narcotic was open ready before her.

"Let me do that," Grissom said, taking it from her. "Give me your arm."

Sofia wearily opened a few buttons, tugging her shirt down to offer him her upper arm. Grissom put the needle in, injecting the painkiller into the muscle. Sofia barely reacted, utterly dead on her feet.

"Get some rest," he said, putting the needle aside.

Sofia seemed to have no energy to re-button her shirt, and instead sat down on the carpet where she was, head in her hands. Catherine sat with Sara, who gave her a tired look.

"Cat, stay away from Warrick, okay?" she said softly.

And without further comment, she moved to lay on the carpet, silent and asleep. Catherine lay down beside her, too tired to think or care, and wanting only to escape into her dreams.

* * *

_Next - the CSIs continue to unravel. I have been known at times as the author who is not afraid of going anywhere with a fic, and this fic could easily be one of those. Drugs, sex, alcohol, orgies? In their devastated hypnotic state I think I just could justify any or all of those quite easily ... but I guess we'll see how far I want to take this. ;)_

_Thanks to those who've left reviews on the prior chapter, you've kept me writing. I had a terrible week and your kindness meant a lot._


	11. Chapter 11

_I've been staring at this completed chapter now for two days, trying to make up my mind about whether it feels "right". But going to go with it, so here goes nothing ..._

* * *

When Sara woke, she hoped for a brief moment that it had all been a nightmare. But when she opened her eyes she saw the shelves of the pharmacy towering above her, and cringed. It wasn't a nightmare, it was real.

For a moment she lay still, getting her bearings. The sun was streaming in hot through the store windows, and the thin blanket draped over her felt stifling. She had no idea who had put it there, knowing everyone had been too tired to care the night before, but felt faintly touched all the same. She saw Grissom asleep to her right, lying on his back and looking peaceful, and on her left lay Catherine, her red hair glowing in the sunshine. Neither of them looked like they were going to wake anytime soon.

Sara pushed the blanket aside, quietly getting to her feet. She saw a used syringe and vial of pethidine abandoned on the counter, and checking behind it, saw Sofia asleep on the floor, alone. She, too, had a blanket laid over her, now fallen to her waist, and her shirt was half undone, her cleavage visible. Sara felt a twinge of conscience, knowing now with the benefit of hindsight that they should never have let Sofia take the journey, and she lingered for a moment to be sure Sofia was breathing before moving away.

She made her way outside, opening the door carefully so that the bell wouldn't tingle, and emerging into the blinding daylight of another summer's day.

It was a scorcher, the sun high and already over halfway across the sky, indicating early afternoon. A lone fly buzzed near her face, and she swatted it away as her eyes fell on the grocery store across the street. The front window was partially shattered, lines snaking their way through the glass, and on the kerb before it sat Warrick, shoulders hunched.

"Hey," he greeted, spotting her there.

"Hey," she replied.

She did not move for a moment, still unsure how she felt about his violence the night before. But as she looked at his defeated body language and his apologetic brown eyes landed on her she felt herself soften. It was no time to hold grudges, and in any case she didn't have the energy.

"How you doing?" he asked.

"I'm alive," she said, stopping to lean against the post. "Still standing."

It was the most she could say.

"How's the pain?" he asked.

"Fine."

She did not feel like going into it; already it all seemed so far away. It was as if she had lived a dozen lifetimes since Warrick had forced her to her feet at the back of the house, and made her march with them out into the defeated state of oblivion they were now in. In any case, the pain was not so bad, and the physical soreness was nothing compared to the mental devastation.

"Where's Nick?" she added.

"Asleep in the storeroom of the pharmacy," Warrick replied. "He fell asleep about dawn. I slept a few hours and then came out here. The heat woke me up."

He threw a despairing look at the sun.

"There's still plenty of food in the store if you're hungry."

Sara nodded, and promising to be back, wandered into the grocery store. It did not look as bad as she had thought it would – only one shelf near the entrance had been overturned, and cans of spaghetti lay scattered on the floor. The rest of the place seemed relatively intact. But Sara had little in the way of appetite, and feeling her bladder was full, tore open some toilet paper before heading out the rear door with a roll to find a private place behind the shop. When done, she returned, and dropped the roll on a register before moving off into the liquor department. She grabbed a six pack of beer, and wandered back into the sunshine to sit down beside Warrick.

"Beer for breakfast," he commented, casting it a glance as she grabbed at one.

But Sara was done caring.

"You want one?" she offered.

"Absolutely," he replied.

She passed him one before opening her own, and took a welcome swig of the warm liquor. Beside her Warrick tossed the cap into the gutter and gulped a few mouthfuls, still looking depressed.

"I take it Catherine's still asleep?" he asked.

"She's out like a light," Sara confirmed.

Warrick nodded. "I think she took it hard last night. I mean, it's not so bad for me, I don't have any family, but for her, with Lindsey … it's gotta be tough, you know?"

Sara nodded, knowing what he meant. She was lucky, if anything, that most of the people she cared about were here with her. The only ones she mourned for were Brass and Greg, and there was nothing she could do for them now. But for the others, who all had loved ones, and for Catherine, who had a child, she knew it was heartbreaking.

"I think it's hard on them all," she replied. "They all have people they've left behind. And with what we know now …"

She trailed off, knowing they would never see them again. Warrick, seeming to guess her thought, nodded in agreement.

She took another swig of her beer.

"You realise your shirt's open, right?" Warrick asked.

Sara glanced down, and saw her white blouse was unbuttoned part way, but really did not care.

"Does it bother you?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I just don't want to get beat up by Grissom for not telling you."

They shared a brief smile, and the next half hour passed with mundane conversation. Sara had questions lurking in the back of her mind, but had no energy or strength to deal with them. The conversation about what had happened to them all on their search would have to wait for another far distant day, and they spoke about little things until later when Sofia emerged, bags under her eyes and walking stiffly, her eyes landing straight on the six pack beside Sara. Sara wordlessly handed her one, and Sofia sat down with them until, one by one, their colleagues slowly joined them.

Grissom was the last, and when he emerged blinking into the daylight his eyes fell wearily on them all gathered by the roadside. He took in Warrick's arm wrapped around Catherine's waist, Nick's defeated expression, and then stopped on Sara. He glanced at her open shirt, her second beer glistening in the sun, and then motioned to Warrick.

"Move over."

They budged along to make room, and he sat down beside her.

"You sleep well?" Catherine asked, as if trying to pull herself together. Warrick's fingers squeezed her waist.

Grissom looked at her, startled by the question.

"No," he replied simply.

His hand settled on Sara's leg, and Sara found the gesture comforting. She knew it was a promise that whatever had happened, and however she felt, he would help her through it.

"Well," Nick said, bravely taking a deep breath and squinting in the sunlight, "what the hell do you wanna do now?"

"Damned if I know," Warrick replied, drinking.

"We should head back," Catherine said. "To the house."

She said it with comfortable certainty, as if it was a done deal, but Sofia raised an eyebrow.

"You're kidding, right? What you really feel like right now is more hiking?"

"We hiked our legs off last night, Cath," Nick said, swiftly backing her up. "And it's a long way."

"I know," she replied, unswayed. "But it's off the beaten track, so at least we'll be safe. Those thugs won't find us there. And if there's any way home, that's where it'll be – where it all began."

Sara knew she was right, and seconds later, despite not really discussing it, they seemed agreed. They raided the grocery store and pharmacy until they had a dozen bulging bags of supplies between them, alcohol included, and then they reluctantly set off. The hike was uneventful except for the depressing mood along the way, and when they arrived at the country house it was night-time, and they found it resting peacefully under the stars, waiting for them.

"Home sweet home," Sara said, dumping her bags on the kitchen table.

"Home sweet home?" Warrick echoed. "How much have you been drinking?"

"Well we're still here, so … not enough," she finished, giving a brief smile.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "You gonna guzzle all that yourself or are you planning to share?"

"You only had to ask."

Sara passed her a bottle. She half expected Grissom to comment, but he didn't, seeming unbothered. He moved instead from the kitchen to the living room, lighting the candles so that soft light flickered pleasantly throughout, and then packed away the groceries before taking a beer for his own. The group migrated to the lounge suite, and when Sara sat down she caught a hint of a sad expression on his face which told her that for all his appearance of coping, his wounds were as deep as any of theirs, and his resilience was worn through. Spotting this, Sara put a hand on his thigh, and moved into his lap. The shift seemed to surprise him, but after a moment he smiled warmly, and wrapped an arm snug around her waist. On the arm chair opposite, Sofia slipped another pill into her mouth, and put her feet up on the coffee table.

"Well," Nick said, opening a fresh beer, "let's make a toast."

"To what?" Catherine asked, evidently not believing they had anything at all to celebrate. She cracked open a beer and got snug in her chair, tucking her feet under her.

"To getting out of there alive," Warrick suggested.

His eyes were laced with mental pain of recent memory.

"To survival?" Sofia clarified.

"It'll do for now," Nick agreed. "Cheers."

They clinked bottles, and Sara raised her own before taking another swig. She felt pleasantly snug in Grissom's arms, his possessive hold of her both sexy and comforting, and as the evening passed she knew she was fast getting tipsy. She sensed, too, Grissom's inhibitions crumble away as his hand slipped from her waist to under her blouse, stroking her flat stomach, and she knew that later, upstairs, they would be having sex. As time passed the conversation bubbled from the depressing to the jovial, and somehow twisted itself into a humorous, drunken game of truth. Sara discovered that Catherine, born and bred in Las Vegas, held her alcohol well, and furthermore was the life of the party.

"First time I stripped?" Catherine asked, repeating the question Sofia had asked her. "Depends for what reason."

"For any reason," Sofia replied, snuggled up in her armchair and giving a curious smile.

"First time I was naked with a guy? Sixteen. I did my first striptease for a boyfriend at seventeen, did it for a living at nineteen."

"You weren't nervous?"

"First time on stage I was," Catherine confessed. "But it doesn't last long. Soon you enjoy it. You enjoy the attention."

"And when did you stop?" Warrick asked.

"Publicly? A few years later. Privately –" she threw him a flirtatious look, her red hair falling back, "- I never did."

Warrick's eyes held her with rapt attention. But Sara knew that Catherine spoke openly only because none of it mattered. Stuck in this new, plagued world, nothing to do with their old lives had any meaning now, and the magic of being released from all the rules, conformities and weight of their lives was intoxicating.

Sara felt Grissom's hand slip out from under her shirt and he moved to dislodge her from his lap.

"Where are you going?" Catherine asked, somewhat accusingly.

He held up an empty beer bottle. "I'm out."

"You thirsty? Or just ducking away when it's getting interesting?" she challenged. "Don't tell me you're afraid you're going to get asked something."

She raised an eyebrow, teasing.

"He's only afraid he'll have to answer," Warrick said.

"You know," Sofia added, grinning up at Grissom from her armchair, "some people could call that anti-social."

Grissom gave them a level look, but did not bolt. He stood his ground, and swiftly one-upped them.

"You want to know about the first time I was naked with someone?" he queried innocently. "First time was at twenty-three with a friend from college. First time it really meant something – two years ago with Sara, a Sunday after work, in my bedroom."

And with that he turned and headed for the kitchen. Sara felt her mouth drop open – catching grins from all those around her – and smiled, quickly excusing herself.

"Uh, I'll just –"

She motioned to the kitchen and rose.

"You'll just what?" Catherine asked. "Flee?"

"Wimp out?" Nick added.

"Someone's getting laid tonight," Warrick teased.

"They'll be at it like rabbits," Nick said. "We'll have to replace the springs on their bed in the morning."

"Assuming they use the bed," Catherine put in.

They laughed, but Sara ignored them, padding her way into the kitchen after Grissom. She found him standing at the bench, unwrapping a new carton of beer and grinned as she sidled up to him.

"You didn't think of checking with me before we divulge details about our sex life?"

"I didn't give details," he countered happily. "I gave my perception."

"That's virtually the same thing."

"Well I'm sorry if I offended you. It was unintentional."

"You didn't offend me," she said, smiling.

She put her hand on his waist. If anything, she was utterly flattered, and all the more eager to slip upstairs. He gazed at her a moment, and she saw him pass a stealthy glance toward the living room.

"Would you like to get some air?"

She slipped her fingers into his. "I'd love some."

They retreated outside, ignoring Warrick's shout of "Take a condom!" and settled on the swing seat on the verandah. It was a perfect night – the starry sky cloudless, and the heat from the day not quite gone. Sara knew perfectly well from Grissom's roaming hand earlier that he did not simply have an intellectual conversation on his mind, and was not disappointed when he opened proceedings with curling a hand around her thigh, and leaning in to take her lips. It was a long kiss, and he tasted of beer, but he was romantic and gentle, and when he pulled away he pushed her hair back behind her ear.

"How are you doing?" he asked seriously.

"I'm fine," Sara replied, somewhat honestly. "I'm no better or worse than anyone else."

"Sara –" Grissom grew suddenly awkward, hesitating, "- with what happened to you in that house, what he almost did, it's okay if you –"

"I'm not bothered by it," she cut in, knowing where he was heading. "You came to my rescue, you got me out of there, and that's all that counts. I do _not_ want to carry it with me for the rest of my life, and I certainly don't want it affecting our relationship. I'm okay to do everything we've always done; I'm not damaged."

He looked relieved.

"Good. But if that changes, just talk to me. I want you to know that no matter what happens here, what tomorrow holds, or the day after, we can get through this. We'll be okay."

"I know," she said, nodding. "Like we've always said, at least we're here together."

She felt a twinge of sadness for the others, hearing their laughter echo from inside. She knew it was more than the rest of them had, and their laughs tonight might be their last. But there was so little she could do to help them.

He leaned in and kissed her, and this time, he did not draw away. They kissed, making out with open mouths, tongues dancing until Grissom tugged her into his lap, and when she straddled him they unleashed their passion on each other. Sara heard raucous laughter coming from inside, and knew the others were all thoroughly drunk and getting louder, but the noise fell away into the distance as Grissom's hands found her and as hers found him. She untucked his shirt, sliding her hands underneath to feel his warm chest and back, stroking and holding, and he quickly freed the last of her shirt buttons, slipping his hands inside. It was not long before his hands found her breasts, and as they made contact she pulled away from his kisses, unable to do both at once. She stifled a moan, breathing hard as his fingers ducked around to undo her bra catch. And yet despite everything, Grissom seemed to be in no hurry whatsoever. Whether because he was being sensitive to her ordeal, or because he was just in the mood to take his time and forget about it all, he seemed keen to savour the moment and enjoy her. The minutes drifted past in a pleasant state of romance until some time later, when her hands had undone his belt buckle and dipped inside, and his were heading in a similar direction, when the laughter from inside suddenly escalated, and Grissom froze, breaking free of kissing her neck, ears peeled.

It sounded to Sara as if the four inside had moved into the kitchen on the other side of the window, and she stilled her hands a moment.

Their hesitation was justified when a moment later a knock sounded, and they saw a shadow of Catherine fall onto the verandah through the wire door.

"Grissom?"

Grissom quickly pulled Sara's shirt back around her, clasping a single button, and Sara climbed off his lap.

"You can come out, Catherine," he replied.

Catherine emerged on the verandah, her red hair slightly ruffled, her hand clutching a fresh beer and her feet bare. Her perfectly painted toenails were visible in the moonlight.

"We're going to play some strip poker if you want in," she said, not hesitating.

Grissom stared.

"You're what?" Sara asked.

"You heard," she said, giving a carefree, drunken smile. "If you're in, you're in, if you're not, stay out here."

She turned and made to head back, but Grissom stopped her.

"Catherine –"

"We're adults, Gil," she cut in, smiling. "Don't go all Ecklie on us."

"I wasn't going to," he said, and looked almost offended. "It's your business. I was just going to say put on some socks and a jacket – or you'll give them an edge."

She smiled, and looked touched by his protection.

"And Catherine – take care of Sofia."

"She doesn't need protection. She's a killshot."

"Just do it anyway," he requested.

She shrugged, and headed back inside.

"Strip poker?" Sara repeated, laughing.

"Haven't you ever played?" he asked.

"You're telling me you have?"

He hesitated. "A long time ago."

He did not divulge further details, and Sara could only guess it had been in the context of a former relationship. She knew he loved poker, and for him to have dabbled briefly in strip poker would not have surprised her. She did not pry – what was past was past, and she was not keen either to share details of her games with her own former flames either. Some things were better left buried.

More laughter reverberated from the kitchen, and there was a scraping of chairs as they sat down.

"Take a seat, Curtis!" Nick chimed, his hand patting wood.

"You realise I'm covered in bruises?" Sofia asked.

Warrick made a sceptical noise. "You're still the hottest detective in PD."

"You should hear the way they talk about you behind your back," Catherine added.

"Bruises don't matter," Nick said lightly. "After what happened out there, I tell ya, I've got a few of my own. We can compare, trade battle scars, come on –"

He patted the seat again.

Sofia laughed. "Let me just grab another drink."

"All right!" Catherine said. "Sit down, boys. Rules …"

Sara listened as Catherine established the rules. But as she listened to them banter and laugh she felt a strange new sense of isolation, as if she had been moved to swing shift all over again, shut out from the team and their fun and friendship, banished from the group.

"Would you like to play?" Grissom asked, observing her closely.

Sara turned. "No," she said, smiling. "I'm lousy at poker."

"I'm not," he offered.

Sara watched him closely. There was a twinkle in his eye, and she saw he had long left boss mode behind, somewhere back in the city, after her attack. He now seemed completely at ease, the unwound Grissom the rest of the team rarely saw.

"If you want to play, we can play," he said. "I'll take care of you. We could get revenge."

There was a playful look in his eye which made Sara suddenly think that he had not failed to notice that her shirt had been hanging open all day, or that Warrick or Nick had probably noticed. The thought of seeing what he would do to them was fun and intriguing, but she hesitated. The risk of losing was there, but she doubted if any of them would remember it in the morning, or that she would be naked alone. And as she looked out into the dark desert and their terrible isolation, into the world which had no rules, she couldn't care anymore. No one would ever catch them.

She grinned. "I'm game if you are."

He took her hand. "Then let's go."

They re-entered through the kitchen door and the four at the table looked up. Warrick was shuffling cards with expert speed, like one who had years of experience.

"We're in," Sara declared, grinning. She snatched up a fresh beer and moved to take a seat.

"Well, well!" Nick declared. "Step up, take a seat! Right here, boss man –"

"Wonders never cease," Warrick said, looking impressed. "Didn't think you two would have the guts."

"The guts to what?" Sara asked, feeling a stab of competitiveness. "To thrash you?"

"Oooh," he said, mocking being wounded. "Those are _fighting_ words."

"Get ready to lose," Grissom said.

Warrick began to deal the cards. Sara felt a thrill of adrenaline.

"You sure you're okay with this?" Catherine asked, picking up her own. "You know you're drunk, right?"

"She's not half as drunk as you are," Warrick replied.

"Or you," Sofia added, looking amused.

"Well if being trapped in this godforsaken place isn't a reason to let off steam, I don't know what is," Warrick replied.

"I'm fine," Sara assured Catherine, and meant it. "Let's go."

"All right," Nick said. "But don't say we didn't check first. Watch out, Sidle."

"You just worry about yourself, Nicky," Catherine said, winking.

And in no time it began.

If someone had told Sara years earlier that she would end up playing strip poker with her team – and her boss to boot – she would have given them directions to the nearest rehab centre. But play they did, and it was such liberating fun that Sara soon found herself laughing through the entire thing, giggling uncontrollably with the alcohol. They were all drunk, and all thoroughly beyond caring. Sara soon picked up the game, and found her feet with it during the first few rounds as Catherine, Warrick and Nick all lost socks, and by the time the real action started, she had it nailed. All of the others, however, turned out to be proficient players, with Warrick and Sofia also proving adept, yet in the end luck proved to be the major factor in whoever won each round.

Sara noted with interest the motivations of each of them, and quickly learned their style of play. Grissom, when he won, was chivalrous in protecting Sara and Sofia, but seemed to regard any of the others – including Catherine –as fair game. Catherine, on the other hand, went freely for the guys with every victory, taking their socks and pants from them with a saucy smile, and both Warrick and Nick happily retaliated. Catherine stripped her pants and tank top with barely a blush, giving the guys a full view of her black lingerie, and Sara saw Nick take in a sharp breath at the sight. Sofia, when she won, seemed to decide that the fairest option was to nominate whoever was wearing the most, therefore keeping things fair, and Sara, not wanting anyone to be completely humiliated, followed suit.

Half an hour later, all of them had lost clothes. Catherine was in her lingerie, Nick and Warrick bare chested, and Grissom and Sofia in their shirts. Sara had her own blouse still on, until Nick took the next victory.

"Come on, Sara," Nick said, beckoning. "Hand it over."

Sara hesitated, buying time by taking another swig of beer. She knew she was going to have a head-splitting hangover in the morning, but at least she would have company with that one.

"You know, if you want to back out, there's still time," Catherine offered.

"You say that to her?" Warrick protested. "Why's she get special treatment?"

"She's had an ordeal," Grissom reminded him.

"It's okay," Sara said, waving them down.

She stood, and glad that the night was at least warm, reached for the buttons.

"I tell you what," Nick interrupted. "I'll make you a deal. You can either give us the shirt, or answer a question truthfully."

"What's the question?" Catherine asked.

"Well," Nick said, "we'll take the shirt, or you can tell us what you and Grissom did in the barn that day."

Sara mind's shot back to the sex they had had in the barn, to the oral pleasure she had given, and felt herself go red. What they had done was private, and there was no way she would ever tell them. She cleared her throat, grinning, and reached for the buttons on her shirt, working her way down.

"Now that's telling," Sofia said, an amused look on her face.

"You realise you just incriminated yourself?" Catherine asked.

"It's no one's business," Sara said, grinning nevertheless at the memory as she passed the shirt to Nick.

"You could've lied and said you'd done nothing," Catherine said.

"Yeah, right," Warrick said. "As if anyone would've believed that."

The game continued to degenerate with each sip of alcohol, and as it grew wilder, several things happened which Sara could not help noticing, and of which she was careful to never mention again later. Catherine lost her bra to Warrick, slipping it off sexily before flicking her hair over her shoulder and unashamedly handing it over, and Warrick, staring at her perfect bare chest, took in a sharp breath. He shifted slightly in his seat, and Sofia, who was sat next to him, suddenly looked swiftly away from his lap, biting down on a grin as she slipped Sara a raised eyebrow from across the table. Sara interpreted it perfectly, and knew he had an erection. She had a brief moment of devilish temptation to finish off the game and make him remove his underwear, but in the end, didn't, sure that from Catherine's wild flirtation that she already had it well in hand. Catherine, however, seemed to decide that things needed evening up, and used her next victory to stray from her usual target of the men to strip Sofia of her shirt – the only one who still had it on – causing Nick to call her a traitor.

"Picking on your own sex?" he taunted. "Whatever happened to the sisterhood and all that?"

"Would you rather it's you, Nicky?" Catherine teased, flashing a look that she wasn't above changing her mind.

"Hey, I'm not ashamed of my body," Nick replied, at ease in his briefs. "I'm the man here."

"Oh please," Warrick scoffed, "I've seen you in the change rooms."

"You want to compare here? I'm not small – I'm bigger than you. When it comes to manhood at this table, there's only one here who's bringing it –"

"Oh please. Don't make statements you can't back up."

"I'm not."

"You know there's an easy way to settle this," Sofia said, laughing.

"Okay," Nick said, holding up his hands. "I'm willing to prove it, I'm not ashamed. Come on, Catherine, hit me –"

"Fine," Catherine said. "Go ahead, then. If that's how you want it."

She stalled Sofia's movements with a hand, and Nick stood to take it in her place.

"You know there's more to being a man than the size of your penis, you know? It's about protecting the ladies –" he gestured to Sofia "- I want it on the record I'm being chivalrous here, shielding a friend –"

"Yeah, right," Warrick said. "Well when we get back we'll tell Ecklie all about how noble you were."

"That's a conversation I won't miss," Sara joked, imagining it.

Nick dropped his briefs.

Instantly Sara didn't know where to look, as Nick stepped out of his briefs and held up his hands, on full display. But he hadn't been lying – he was a fair size, and not bad looking at that. Across the table, Sofia collapsed into giggles, head in her hand, and Catherine raised an eyebrow.

"I'm impressed," she offered.

"See?" Nick said. "I told you so. I want to thank you all for an enjoyable game – Catherine, you're a damn good sport –"

"Wait a minute," Warrick complained. "You're acting like it's a victory, you haven't won anything, you _lost_ –"

"You got a problem here, Warrick?"

"I don't have a problem, I'm just saying it's nothing to brag about."

"Well either back it up or shut up," Nick taunted, smiling.

"Fine."

Warrick stood, gripping the hem of his boxers.

Grissom swiftly intervened. "Warrick, don't. That's enough. Put it away –"

But he was too late; Warrick had already dropped them. Sofia giggled harder, and Sara got up from her chair, deciding it was time to leave.

"Well what do you want me to do with that?" Nick asked. "Applaud?"

"I don't want you to do anything with it, I'm just making a point."

"It's not a competition here, man, I'm just taking one for a friend," Nick argued. "Sparing her the pain, being a gentleman."

"And it's much appreciated," Grissom said flatly. "Now both of you get dressed."

"And just for the record," Sara added, pushing her chair in, "you're both wrong. _Neither_ of you is the man here."

And with a smile that made her point, she put her empty beer bottle on the sink, and turned to head up the stairs with Grissom.

XXX

Sara spent the next hour in the bedroom with Grissom, locking the door and slowly resuming the wave of passion that had been interrupted by the game earlier. It was dark, but the moonlight that streamed in through the window was bright enough to allow them to see, and in the privacy of the bed they stripped each other of their remaining clothes. Straddling him a few minutes later, Sara eased down on his fullness with relief, her need from the past several hours burning, and began to rock gently. Grissom's hands roved all over her as she moved, dipping from her breasts to her behind and her waist, until after a minute when he took control and rolled her onto her back. He finished the deed with a slow, burning intensity that showed her exactly how long he had been waiting for it, and when they both finally came she closed her eyes, resting a while, out of breath.

She did not know how long they rested, only that a while later everything had fallen strangely silent downstairs, and Sara, the sheets damp and needing a trip to the bathroom, resolved that she should at least check on Catherine and Sofia.

"You sleep," she whispered, kissing Grissom on the cheek. "I'll be back in a minute, okay?"

She slipped out of bed, putting her bra and underwear back on, and snuck out of the room to let him rest. She went down the hallway to use the bathroom, and then went back downstairs. She heard Nick and Sofia's quiet voices coming from outside, but from the living room there was a murmur of moaning and sedate kissing, and Sara stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs as she spotted Catherine and Warrick entwined on the couch.

They were both half naked, wearing only their underwear, but Sara could tell at a glance that they were both trashed. Warrick was on top of her, Catherine with one arm behind her head, lazily soaking up his attention as he kissed her. As Sara watched his hand moved around to her back, and slipped to grope her behind. But when Catherine's eyes stayed closed, and her fingers weakly pushed at his shoulder, half asleep, Sara swiftly moved forward.

She walked over, and gripped Warrick's shoulders.

"Warrick," she said clearly. "Stop. Leave her be –"

He looked up, appearing irritated by her intrusion.

"She's half asleep," Sara said firmly. "She _can't_ consent, you know that."

Warrick looked back to Catherine, and seeing her eyes were closed, sighed. He blinked, rubbing his eyes.

"Geez, I'm sorry, I –"

"It's okay," she soothed, as she saw heavy guilt swamp his features, his actions borne from a pain she understood fully. "Just let her get some rest, okay? She's had enough for tonight. You can talk to her in the morning."

She did not hear Grissom enter the room, but suddenly he was there, and took Warrick gently by the arm.

"I'll take him," he said, looking disappointed at his actions. "You take care of her."

"Take him upstairs," Sara said. "She can sleep down here tonight."

She did not want any risk of Warrick sneaking back to her room if they had taken her upstairs, and wanted to keep her safe in view. As Grissom urged a silent Warrick upstairs to his bedroom, Sara sighed, and reached for the blanket that they had previously used to cover Sofia when she had been ill. Catherine was already drifting, and Sara wrapped it gently over her.

"Warrick?" she slurred, fighting to open her eyes.

"It's Sara," she corrected. "Get some sleep, okay? You need to rest."

She stroked her forehead until she calmed, eyes closing again, and then moved to the kitchen. Their clothes were scattered everywhere, piled like a laundry explosion, and Sara sorted through them to find Catherine's before returning to place them folded on the coffee table beside her, ready for the morning. She then put a bucket beside the couch, and a glass of water on the table.

"Thank you," Catherine breathed. "You're a good friend."

Sara smiled, touched. "Go to sleep. Everything's going to be fine, okay?"

She knew it was a lie, but Catherine drifted off, believing her. Sara lingered for a moment, watching her sleep, and her heart broke for her. She knew nothing was fine, and wondered if Catherine would even survive with the knowledge that she would never see Lindsey again. They would have to take care of her, she knew that much, and was glad that she had come downstairs before she had been able to go any further with Warrick. She knew Catherine cared for Warrick, but the timing was wrong. After another moment she stood, and blew out the candles to go and check on Nick and Sofia.

She found them sat together on the verandah steps, Nick in his briefs and Sofia in her bra and underwear, her bruises visible in the moonlight, but contentedly gazing out at the starry night. The night was peaceful, and they talked softly to each other as they cradled near empty beers.

"… I just keep thinking of my mother," Sofia confessed quietly. "Everything I've never said, what must be happening right now at home. I wish I'd done it all differently. I wish she could know that I'm okay."

"I know what you mean," Nick said, "I've been thinking of my family too. You know it's been three years since I've visited? I mean, really made it back to see everyone? It sure makes you think about what's important. And I'm not sure I've been getting it right. Our jobs in Vegas – they're important, but they're not everything, you know? Things like this, they make you realise that."

It seemed like a deep conversation, and Sara resolved to leave them to it just as they sensed her there. They both turned to look at her.

"You okay?" Nick asked.

"I'm fine," Sara replied. "We're going to bed, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

"Sure. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Sofia added.

Sara returned the sentiment, and left them to it. Little did she know that the night was far from over, and that the worst was yet to come, but as she tiptoed up to bed and joined Grissom all seemed peaceful, and she climbed back into bed beside him and fell asleep.

* * *

_Despite the humour, I actually found this strangely sad to write, which is probably why I hesitated in posting it. But I still don't regret it. Only one chapter to go I think before the end of the first part of the story, and then the second half will begin. Was a long chapter, but couldn't see any other possible place to cut it. Other than that, hope this read okay. :)_


	12. Chapter 12

It happened at 5:00am, when Sara drifted awake to a soft voice penetrating the darkness.

"Grissom."

A pause.

"Grissom?"

Tucked into Grissom's side, Sara blinked as her cosy pillow moved. The mattress shifted, and she wearily inclined her head to make out the source of the commotion in the moonlight.

It was Sofia. She stood beside the bed in her lingerie, and at a glance Sara could tell something was wrong. Her face was sickly pale with cold sweat, and she gripped the bedside table with white knuckles to stop herself collapsing.

"Sofia?" Sara questioned, pushing herself up.

"Are you all right?" Grissom added.

"I feel really sick," Sofia said.

Her eyes pleaded with them for help, and she breathed erratically, as if unable to draw air. She wavered where she stood, and in a flash Grissom moved, throwing back the covers.

She looked about to faint.

"Come here –"

He locked his arms around her bare waist, and drew her to sit down on the mattress. The sheet was crinkled and sweaty from their love-making and the summer heat, but she did not seem to notice as she sat weakly down, gripping the edge for support.

"What happened?" Sara asked, wriggling across to sit with her. "Is it your head?"

"It's killing me," Sofia replied, still struggling for breath. "I feel _really_ weird."

"It's probably the alcohol," Grissom ruled, crouched in front of her to examine her. "You probably drank too much."

"Do you feel hung-over?" Sara queried. "Do you usually get a headache after you drink?"

"It's not the grog," Sofia said, sounding slightly panicky. "It doesn't feel like this; this is worse. Something's wrong."

Her hand clutched the mattress harder, scrunching up a handful of sheet. She sounded desperate, and throwing a worried look to Grissom, Sara quickly seized control.

"Lie down," she guided. "Put your head on the pillow."

She tugged the pillow into place, and then gently held the back of her neck, guiding her down. She felt a rush of anxiety as she took in Sofia's condition, her weakness and erratic breathing, and above all else, her obvious distress. She knew Sofia was not the type to ask for help unless the situation was dire, and wondered how long she had delayed before it had become bad enough that she had resolved to wake them. She pressed her fingers to her pulse and found it slow but unsteady, and put a hand to her forehead and found her skin clammy. Sofia's eyes half-closed, and Sara swiftly moved to keep her awake.

"How many drinks did you have?" she questioned. "Do you remember?"

"I don't know," Sofia replied, weakly shaking her head.

"How many pills did you ingest?" Grissom asked, evidently thinking along the same lines. "Those painkillers."

"I don't know," Sofia repeated.

A sense of alarm was steadily rising within Sara, the facts and her own suspicions fast falling into a terrifyingly perfect order.

"Well how often did you take them?" Sara asked. "How regularly?"

"Was it every two hours?" Grissom prompted. "Every three?"

"I wasn't timing," Sofia confessed. "The pain was too strong – it's been bad since we left Vegas."

She put a few fingers over her eyes, as if shielding herself from a non-existent light, and to Sara this was the final indicator.

"I think you've overdosed," she told her. "Have you vomited? Been sick yet?"

Again, Sofia shook her head.

"I haven't been sick, I just feel weird."

"We need to get her to vomit," Grissom said, quickly reading her mind.

Sara nodded. If they had been in Vegas, she would never have dared to try it. They would have called 911, and got her to a hospital where the doctors could choose from a plethora of drugs to protect her body from the toxins. But they had none of those at their disposal, and their only hope now was to get her to expel it from her stomach before it killed her.

"See if there's something we can use as an emetic," Sara said, catching his eyes as he moved to the door.

"I'll find something," he assured. "I'll be right back."

He left, and Sara heard his footsteps padding hurriedly up the hallway. Next to her on the bed, Sofia's eyes had slipped closed again. She seemed to be focusing on the task of breathing, and a section of the bed sheet remained anxiously clenched in her hand.

"Don't go to sleep yet," Sara told her. "Stay awake."

"I'm awake," Sofia replied.

But she did not look it; she was sinking fast.

Sara listened anxiously for Grissom downstairs, wishing he would hurry up, and after a moment was rewarded with a dull clunk as the household pipes stirred to life with running water, and she knew he was in the kitchen.

"Hang in there," Sara said. "He'll be back in just a sec'. You'll be fine."

"Sara, I don't feel good."

"I know," Sara said, nodding. She reached for her hand and replaced the clenched bed sheet with her own fingers. "We'll just get some of the toxins out of your system and you'll feel better. Don't worry."

Sofia gripped her hand tight, and Sara kept glancing over her shoulder, scared that the doorway was still empty, and no sounds were coming from the dark corridor beyond.

Sofia fell quiet, still on the pillow.

"Stay with me," Sara urged. "Don't close your eyes."

Sofia ignored her, whimpering into the pillow.

"My head really hurts."

"I know," Sara said, holding her hand tight.

"I think my skull's going to disintegrate."

"You'll be fine," Sara repeated. "I'm sure it's just the alcohol."

"Sara, you're not _listening_."

There was a biting irritation to her tone, and her eyes snapped open, locking on Sara with frustration. But as her anger simmered Sara spotted a second emotion in her friend's blue eyes which scared her infinitely more – fear. Sofia was not just scared, but so far beyond scared that Sara suddenly understood why she had woken them, and what she was trying to say. Suddenly it felt like the floor had fallen out from under her, and she fought to find words.

"It's that bad?" she asked.

In response Sofia merely looked at her, pleading for her to understand.

"I didn't want to wake you, but I think it's …"

"It's okay," Sara cut in, thinking that Sofia's only crime had been in hesitating so long. "I'm glad you did."

She glanced over her shoulder, but still the hallway was empty. She felt scared as she realised that Grissom was taking too long, taking up time they didn't have.

"I'm going to go see what's keeping him, and then I'll be straight back, okay? Just hold on one second."

"I'm trying," Sofia replied.

She grasped her head, and her eyes slipped closed again. Sara leapt off the bed, jogging to the door and rounding the corner to see Grissom at the top of the stairs, calmly holding a glass of water and a bucket. He looked alarmed as she rushed toward him, seizing his elbow.

"She's in trouble," she explained, hurrying him forward with her. "She thinks she's dying."

She caught a flash of his eyes widening, but they were stopped halfway as the door to Nick and Warrick's room opened, and Nick appeared, rubbing his eyes.

"What the hell's going on?" he asked sleepily. "It's not even morning yet."

He looked critical of their racket, but Sara had no time to explain. As she ushered Grissom forward, she spoke over her shoulder.

"Go wake Warrick and Catherine, get them in here."

"They're _trashed_, Sara –"

"Just do it," she ordered.

She had no time to see if he obeyed or not, but rounded the bedroom doorway with Grissom, and saw Sofia exactly where they had left her; lying back on the pillow with eyes closed, covered head to toe in a glistening cold sweat.

Grissom put the bucket down and placed the glass on the bedside table before reaching for her.

"Sit up, we need you to drink this. It'll help clear your stomach."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Saltwater. It'll remove the poison from your system. Once that's out, we'll have a better idea of what we're dealing with."

Sofia weakly shook her head. "I don't think I can."

"I know you don't feel like it, but you need to," Grissom counselled. "It'll all be over in a minute."

"It won't help."

She looked as though she would not be giving in, and that she couldn't even face the thought of sitting up, let alone drinking a liquid that she knew would make her incessantly vomit. She closed her eyes, still holding her head in agony, but Sara was not in a mood to give in either, not willing to throw away Sofia's life without a fight.

She took the glass, and sat down on the bed beside her, holding her.

"Drink up," she urged. "When it's over you can rest as long as you want – we promise."

"You can stay right here," Grissom agreed. "But you need to drink first."

"Just let me rest a second," Sofia begged.

She raised a hand, fending off the approaching glass. Sara sighed. She was plotting her next move just as she heard Catherine's grumpy voice issuing from up the hall, evidently in a filthy temper.

"This better be good."

"She didn't say why?" Warrick asked, also sounding pissed off.

"I think something's wrong," Nick offered.

"Well of _course_ something's wrong," Catherine said, as if they were deliberating stating the obvious just to be aggravating. "We're still stuck in this hell-hole."

"It's like groundhog day," Warrick muttered.

"Yeah, well, don't shoot the messenger, all right?" Nick shot back.

Sara looked up as they entered, and saw all three of them looked dreadful. They were all still in their underclothes from hours before – although Catherine had put back on her bra – but they looked distinctly the worse for wear. Their hair was ruffled from attempted sleep, their faces sickly with a pending hangover and barely restrained temper.

Nevertheless Catherine's eyes quickly took in the scene, and when she spotted Sofia breathing shallowly between them, her anger appeared to vanish.

"What the hell happened?" she asked, striding forward to join them.

"She overdosed on beer and the meds, and it's aggravated her head injury," Grissom supplied.

Sara again attempted to get Sofia to drink, moving the glass toward her again.

"Come on," she urged. "Drink up. It'll only take a minute."

"I know it's not pleasant, but you'll be fine," Grissom added. "And if you can't do it for yourself, or for us, then at least do it for your mother. She wouldn't want you to give up."

"Just give me a minute," Sofia pleaded, eyes still closed.

"You've had a minute," Grissom countered. "Your time's up – now drink."

But Sofia didn't move.

"Just drink it, Sofia," Warrick said, looking impatient.

Catherine put a hand on Grissom's shoulder, urging him out of the way.

"Stop pussyfooting around," she said.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, tucked her red hair back behind her ear, and then reached to take the glass from Sara. A firm, no-nonsense look was set on her face.

"Sofia," she said, voice firm, "Look at me."

Sofia reluctantly opened her eyes.

"Here's the deal," Catherine said. "You can either take this voluntarily, or – in the interest of saving your life – we'll force it down your throat. I'm going to give you to the count of three before I lose my patience."

Sara made a mental note to never again wake Catherine mid-hangover, but did not move to stop her. She had the impression that Catherine had done this before; her actions reeked of experience.

"One –"

Sofia simply looked at her, as if debating whether she meant it, or if she herself had the energy or inclination to fight her off.

"_Two_ –"

Sara braced herself, on edge to either hold Sofia down, or hold Catherine back.

"Just do it, Sofia," Nick urged.

"_Three_."

Catherine didn't hesitate – she reached forward and pinched Sofia's nose closed, forcing her to open her mouth to breathe, and moved to pour the saltwater in. Sofia struggled, shooting up a hand to grab Catherine's wrist, but before Sara could move, or even decide whose side she was on, it was all over. Sofia drank the first sip reluctantly, but then, her fight vanished. Catherine let go of her nose, and she began to drink the rest voluntarily.

"Drink it all," Catherine said, voice gentle again as Sofia paused, "All the way down."

Catherine held her head as she drank, helping her get it down, and then placed the empty glass back on the bedside table.

"Sit up – it'll make you sick."

Sara moved to help her up, motioning for Grissom to get the bucket, and he held it ready in front of her. Sara held back her long hair as Sofia leaned over. Her back was slick with perspiration.

"Don't try to hold it back," Catherine said, arm around her. "Just let it out."

Sofia did. She vomited several times into the bucket, pouring out the contents of her stomach. When done she stayed leaning over, as if uncertain whether more was coming.

"You done?" Catherine asked.

But Sofia held up a hand. Grissom held the bucket for her, and after a moment she started again, vomiting twice more before her stomach was at last empty, and then stopped, catching her breath.

"Finished?" Grissom asked.

Sofia nodded.

Sara let go of her hair, and rubbed her back a little. She felt her trembling.

"You've got the shakes," Catherine observed. "Lie down, catch your breath."

Sofia went silently, laying down on the pillows and closing her eyes.

"I'll get a damp cloth," Sara volunteered, noting her sweat. "Something cold."

"I'll go," Nick interrupted, stopping her as she moved to get off the bed. "You stay there."

He left.

"Open a window," Catherine directed to Warrick. "Let some fresh air in. It's stuffy in here."

Sara knew the room carried a subtle smell of sweat and sex, and was grateful when Catherine did not state the obvious, but for once passed over the opportunity. Warrick did as she asked, and a moment later the fresh night air swept the room. It was still warm outside, a scent of the desert on the air.

Nick returned with a damp washcloth, and taking it, Sara placed it on Sofia's forehead.

"Thanks," Sofia whispered.

"You just rest," Sara soothed. "We'll stay with you a while. You'll be fine."

"How do you feel?" Grissom asked. "Faint? Hot? Cold?"

"I don't know," Sofia said quietly.

Standing by the window, Warrick raised an eyebrow.

"I know you don't feel well, but that's not much of an answer," he said.

Sofia did not reply, evidently too ill to care what he thought.

"Well … is there anything we can do?" Nick asked, throwing an uncertain look to Warrick. "Anything you need?"

"I don't think so," Sofia whispered.

Her eyes remained closed, her body still shaking slightly. Nick's brow furrowed, concerned, and he threw questioning looks to the others. Sara responded with a grave look of her own, trying to communicate everything that Sofia had hinted at earlier without having to use words. Catherine nodded, and then watched Sofia for a moment before making a decision.

She edged closer to her on the bed, and after hesitating a moment, took her hand in hers.

"It's your head, isn't it?" she asked gently.

Sofia didn't respond.

"Look, I know you're scared. If I thought not talking about it would help, I'd stay silent forever. But I think we're past that point, and I think maybe we do need to discuss it. I mean, if you'd rather speak with one of us alone, that's fine. That's okay. But I know you're in pain, and I know you wouldn't have woken Sara if you thought you could cope. If it's bad, you need to tell us."

Sofia said nothing for a moment, but Catherine held her hand, and stroked back her long hair, and a second later, the gesture of tenderness broke her.

"It's bad, Catherine."

Her voice was a whisper, and there was a hitch in it of threatening tears that struck Sara. She reached forward to put a hand on her arm, feeling dreadful for her. Watching beside the bed, Grissom looked pained.

"I saw you taking a lot of pills in Vegas," Catherine went on. "Was it this bad then, or only since tonight, when we started drinking?"

"It's been bad since Vegas," Sofia answered. "It feels like I've been stabbed in the head. But it's been killing me since midnight."

Sara knew the alcohol and drugs had made it infinitely worse – and that they should never have given them to her. They had been crappy friends to let her drink at all, and even worse to get her drunk and talk her into taking her clothes off as a joke. None of them had even paused to ask if she had been okay, none of them had bothered to care. Guilt swamped her, and she shook her head, disgusted with herself, with all of them.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Catherine asked quietly.

Sofia's little finger shifted, wiping at a stray tear.

"Because I knew you wouldn't have cared," Sofia said honestly. "You had no strength to care."

Coming back from Vegas, Sara knew it had been the truth, and this knowledge made it hurt all the worse. Even when they had woken in the pharmacy the next morning, not one of them had asked about her condition, and while all of them had noticed that she had swallowed too many painkillers, not one of them had asked about it, or looked out for it in any way whatsoever. Sara knew that if Sofia had had any thoughts of telling them, they certainly hadn't given her any opening to do so, not until now, when she had been forced to come to Sara due to blinding pain, and yet felt the need to apologise for doing so.

She felt sick, and wondered what on Earth she had been thinking.

"Sofia, I'm sorry," she said, unable to hold back any longer. "I should have been a better friend. I should have looked out for you, known that you weren't okay."

"It's all our faults," Grissom said, looking equally gutted. "We should never have made that trip to Vegas. We put our hunger for information above your health, and that was wrong."

"I agree," Warrick added. "And we should never have let you drink tonight, either. We got you drunk instead of putting you safe in bed, or at least making sure you were okay."

"Got you drunk and treated you like a sex object," Nick agreed. "I'm _so_ sorry, Sofia."

He had tears in his eyes, looking deeply disturbed.

"I'm sorry too," Catherine added. "For _all_ those reasons – but most of all because I have the feeling that you're about to tell us that it's too late. That you woke Sara for a reason, or that she woke us for a reason."

She held Sofia's hand tight, and face hidden behind her other, Sara heard Sofia sniffle, her tears falling.

"I'm so sorry, Catherine," she said, voice breaking.

"It's not your fault," Catherine said emphatically. "It's our fault. It's all our fault."

She sounded miserable, on the verge of crying herself.

"Promise me you'll go see my mother – afterward," Sofia pleaded. "Go explain, tell her I tried. Tell her I love her."

"If it comes to that, we promise," Sara vowed, thinking it was the least they could do after the despicable way they had treated her.

"We'll go see her," Nick promised. "We'll take care of everything, don't you worry."

As they watched Sofia deteriorate, Sara's guilt continued to wrench at her. It wrenched with sickening heaviness when Sofia asked if they'd mind staying, and even more when she helplessly watched her condition worsen despite their best efforts to help. They had proved powerless, and it was a harsh reality check that brought Sara to a painful acquaintance with how insignificant and helpless they were in the cruel natural order of the world, and that they had thrown away the only defence that Sofia had had in their friendship. The hours that followed were some she did not care to ever remember, and though she tried to scrub them from her memory the pain of guilt remained, and never receded.

All she could do was vow to never be that stupid again, and that had to be enough.

XXX

In the Catholic cathedral of Las Vegas, Brass stood at the edge of the crowd, taking in the masses. It had been nearly a week since the CSIs went missing, Sofia with them, and the prayer service had not come as a surprise. For days they had searched, had lost sleep and trawled through their absent colleagues' houses searching for clues, but the lack of any had got to them all. He had never felt so helpless, or more desperate as the devastating reality had set in days later. He knew they had crossed a line now, that kidnapping deadline cops knew about, that they were now beyond the point of any realistic hope of finding them alive. Wherever his friends were, they were long gone. The hopelessness that had set in had led the Sheriff to organise the prayer service for the LVPD staff, to give them an outlet for their emotions, but standing now at the edge of the crowd, Brass could not shake the feeling that he should be at the office instead. He should be doing something – doing anything – rather than sitting in some church praying.

His eyes settled for a moment on the projector screen at the front. The six photographs of his missing friends and colleagues were there on display, their names neatly typed beneath. The effect made it feel like a funeral service, and Brass felt barely able to look at the photos without the gnawing feeling in his gut starting again, their smiling faces only filling him with agonising pain. He had not done enough, but had no idea what else to do, what more to try. The news of their disappearance had made headlines, and with it had come a spate of media speculation and an intense interest from the public which did not help matters. He felt pressed to give speeches when he should have been out looking, and having to admit to having no real leads only made them all feel worse. The FBI in Washington DC had offered to help, and Brass and his senior colleagues had gratefully accepted – so devastated after several days' searching that they were willing to embrace any expertise offered – and now FBI agents were mingling with the crowd, talking with the families, gathering intelligence from the people who knew them best.

Among the crowd were those he knew – Lindsey Willows with her grandmother Lily Flynn up the front, talking with the Sheriff, and nearby in the front pew with a sign language translator, Grissom's mother. In the thick of the crowd at the rear of the church was Dianne Curtis, whom he had never known prior to her daughter's disappearance, but who he had come to regard as a much needed friend over the last few days. Dianne Curtis was a thin woman who had a vibe of someone who was too busy to ever sit down, and though she looked little like her daughter – Dianne's hair straight and black to her shoulders – she shared all her mannerisms. She was every bit the efficient, down to Earth police captain that Brass had expected to find her, and though she worked in a separate county of Nevada, they had quickly found themselves to be on the same wavelength, and he had got to know her well over the last several days. On the third day after the disappearance, when Dianne had been starting to crack, he had secretly shown her the files – technically illegal and yet he had been eager to tap into her expertise and any personal knowledge of Sofia which might help – but though Dianne had perused the file with him for several hours, nothing further had occurred to them. Fears and suspicions were abundant – the most likely of those that they had been kidnapped or murdered, or even held hostage – but the only thing which had even come close to being a lead was their discovery of Catherine's hidden wealth, and secret share of the Eclipse that she had inherited from her father, Sam Braun. They had followed that possibility rigorously, but the casino denied receiving any ransom note, as did Lily Flynn and Lindsey, and as time wore on it seemed increasingly unlikely. Nevertheless he had become keenly, unpleasantly aware now of how good looking all three of the missing women were, and hoped that whoever had them, that the men had been able to do something to protect them. The possibilities had been haunting his dreams.

Brass nodded in greeting to Greg Sanders, who stood across the church with a few of Nick's brothers. Of everyone involved, Greg had been affected as bad as any of them, and the signs were beginning to show. His face was grey, the bags under his eyes deep from sleep deprivation, and despite being catastrophically short-staffed, and flying in forensics experts from across the country to fill the void, Ecklie had still sent him home twice in the past week. And yet mental illness had been a symptom for all of them who knew the CSIs and Detective Curtis best, and it was for this reason that half the LVPD had shown up today. Everyone had worked with them at one stage, and everyone felt bad, desperate for good news which seemed unlikely to ever come. LVPD psychologists were now mingling with the crowd too, offering what help they could, and handing out cards.

"Jim."

Brass gave a tight smile as Sheriff Atwater joined him.

"So it's come to this," the Sheriff said, glancing over the crowd and talking lowly. "Prayer."

"It's about all we have left now," Brass replied.

He felt awful, and yet it was the truth.

"Well I pray they're alive," the Sheriff said, "out there somewhere."

"If they were okay, if it was just an accident, they would've found their way back by now."

Brass knew that much was a certainty. Sara and Catherine, at least, were tough as steel, and he had no doubt that if it had been a simple matter of getting lost, they would have reappeared in Vegas days ago. The fact that they hadn't only meant one thing.

"They're in trouble," he added.

The Sheriff nodded in discrete agreement.

"At least they're together, and armed. We have to be grateful for that much."

Brass was, but as the days wore on it offered little comfort. The Sheriff caught the eye of the Governor at the back, and quickly excused himself. Brass did not follow. He knew that in a minute he too would have to pull himself together, to go play the part of the still hopeful Captain he was required to play, and above all else, to go check in on Lindsey for Catherine's sake, but he wanted to seize a moment of quiet before that time came.

Hope. It all seemed so far away. And despite the label of a prayer service, a service of united hope, it still felt like a funeral.

He had failed them, and that was that.

* * *

_End Part One, and the first half of the story._

_Again, a depressing chapter to write, and one that makes me determined to insert some lightheartedness into the next few to make up for it. But I'm glad to have reached this point; it's such a key turning point in the story and I've reached it earlier than I expected._

_On the up side - on a completely unrelated matter - I am giggling at the possibilities of the havoc I could unleash (a good 10-15 chapters on from here) if I had Dianne Curtis and Jim Brass actually get together. It's not implausible - shared pain of trying to cope, both captains etc - and yet the thought makes me smile with cheekiness. Sofia's reaction would be like, "WTF?", followed closely by, "He's my boss, *not* my father", or "You slept with my boss?!", or even "What do you mean you're married? Are you serious?" Seriously makes me laugh although I doubt there'd be room for it, so I'll probably have to pass on it. But strange the directions my brain takes sometimes. _

_Thanks to those who've read this far, and especially to those who've offered support and feedback through the first half of this story - the turning point in the whole thing is now here, and I hope you'll stick around for the rest. Love, Anna._


	13. Chapter 13

Sofia did not die, though it was a close thing. In later years Sara hated to think about how close it really was, knowing they had almost lost her, and even years on it remained a memory which was harrowingly raw. After her emotional breakdown Sofia drifted into a semi-conscious state, sometimes coherent and other times not, and in the hours following all of them stayed close beside her. It had been a gruelling night – the warm desert air flowing through the open window, watching the sun rise as Sofia struggled for life between them. Grissom kept her on her side, in case she vomited, but was helpless to do anything more. Most of the time, he paced, crossing restlessly between the bed and the window, his scared eyes always landing again on Sofia, searching for positive signs which never came. Sara remained silent, heavy with the guilt at what they had done, and stayed morosely cross-legged on the mattress beside Sofia, determined not to leave her.

The wait passed with each minute stretching like an hour. Once or twice Catherine took pity on Grissom's distress, and when his pacing brought him close to the bed she touched his arm as he passed, but none of them said anything. The time passed largely in devastating silence. After a while Warrick sat down on the bed behind Catherine, his hands settling on her shoulders, and Sara spotted a fleeting look of uncertainty in her eyes, as if she did not know whether to flinch or lean into him, but it seemed beyond her ability to unravel it at that moment. In the end she did not draw away, and after a time raised one hand to seize his, and he kissed the back of her hair, watching Sofia over her shoulder. When dawn came, and Sofia had still not moved, Nick suggested they pray.

"Maybe we should say something, you know? A prayer. What do you think?"

"It can't hurt," Warrick agreed.

"Right now I'll say anything," Catherine murmured.

Nick stepped forward into the fold, taking Catherine's hand in his, and settling his other on Grissom's shoulder. After a second's hesitation Grissom reached over for Sara's, and Sara, with no experience to draw upon but following their lead, joined hands with both him and Warrick. She did not feel even remotely religious, ready to curse God for ever putting them in such a situation, but was ready to try anything.

"Dear Lord, we come to you to pray for our friend Sofia, for her life that's in danger right now. We ask that you spare her, to let her come safely back to us, and if you do we promise to be better friends, to care for her as we should have done. We may not comprehend what your plans for us here are at this time, but we trust in your infinite wisdom to lead us somehow to safety, to help us through whatever challenges befall us. We ask for this in Jesus' name, Amen."

"Amen," Sara repeated.

Sara had little hope that the prayer would help, and a further two hours passed before any great change came. Sofia did eventually wake from her stupor, but when she did it looked no less bleak. She was still covered in sickly sweat, and it soon became apparent that she was suffering from violent stomach cramps. Sara and Catherine took her to the bathroom, and Sara felt a pang of sympathy as she watched her friend suffer through nature's efforts to expel the toxins from her body. Sofia was very weak afterward, and they helped her back to bed with a fresh cold compress to her forehead, Sara holding her hand as she settled back in for another rest.

Nevertheless it became apparent by midday that the worst was over, and that she may make a recovery, and by mid-afternoon, when the scorching heat of the day had taken hold outside, it seemed inevitable. Sara felt her fear gradually unravel, and the rest of the day passed with comparative ease. Though Sara knew they had dodged a bullet, she climbed back into bed that night still feeling shaken, and the feeling of unsettled trauma lingered for days to come.

In the morning, little had changed. She woke to find that she was the last to rise, it already being mid-morning outside, and that the others had already had breakfast. She spotted Warrick and Nick making Sofia comfortable on the sofa, settling her in with soft pillows and blankets, and could hear Catherine in the laundry somewhere beyond. Yet it was Grissom who interested her, and after a quick glance around she soon found him sitting in the swing seat out on the front verandah, looking pensively out at the desert wilderness.

"Hey," she greeted.

He looked up, surprised to see her.

"Hi. How'd you sleep?"

"Fine – albeit a bit late. I'm surprised you didn't wake me."

She could see the sun was already well risen. The first of the day's insects were hovering above the sunlit grass across the driveway, and though she herself was dressed only in her lingerie with her shirt hanging open, she felt hot already. The floorboards under her feet were warm.

"You looked as if you needed the rest," he replied, as she sat down beside him. "We thought we'd let you lie in a while."

She nodded, but saw his attention return to the desert, distantly passing over the endless dried grasslands.

"You okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he replied. "Just having some downtime."

"Thinking?"

"We have a lot to think about," he agreed.

He did not sound bothered, merely deep in thought. After a moment she realised he was not going to volunteer more, and sensed that for now at least, he wanted some time alone. Understanding, she rubbed his knee, and leaned in to steal a kiss.

"We'll be okay," she said, pecking him on the lips. "I think maybe we just all need to rest a while. Take some R&R."

He nodded, appearing to think the same.

"You should go get some breakfast," he said. "Keep your strength up – you barely ate yesterday."

She nodded. "I'll be inside, okay?"

"I'll be in soon."

Not wanting him to hurry, she left him to it. Not feeling remotely hungry, she bypassed the kitchen in favour of the living room, moving to check on Sofia. She found her sitting up on the couch, sipping some water, but still looking very downcast, her fingers to the side of her head as if still in pain. Determined to turn over a new leaf after the guilt of the day before, Sara greeted her with a warm hug, and Sofia seemed to soak it up gratefully before pulling back, needing to lie down. Sara helped her get comfortable, instructing her to do nothing but rest for the day, and by the time she crossed the room to go locate Catherine – who was uncharacteristically absent– Sofia had already closed hesr eyes again.

She found Catherine in the laundry, standing at the large basin. She had filled it with steamy water, the detergent floating in islands on top, and had a collection of assorted clothes and underwear on top of the closed lid of the washing machine.

"We need to do some laundry," Catherine supplied, as Sara paused in the doorway. "Thanks to this heat all our clothes are drenched in a layer of sweat – it's starting to smell."

Her lingerie from the night before was on top of the pile, and she wore instead a brown t-shirt and denim shorts she had scrounged from upstairs. Her hair was tied back in a clumsy ponytail, but her face looked pale and drawn.

She passed a wary glance to the living room as Warrick drifted past. There was a troubled look in her eyes as she watched his progress across the room. Sara watched her closely, and once he was out of sight, took pity on her and discretely closed the door.

"How much do you remember?" she asked.

Catherine's eyes snapped to her in surprise, but Sara leaned calmly against the washing machine, not hurrying her.

"Not much," she confessed. "There's a big gap. I haven't drunk like that since I was a teenager."

Sara nodded; she had suspected as much.

"Well you didn't sleep with him, if that's what you're worried about."

Catherine looked uncertain, trying to piece together scraps of memory.

"I think we were on the couch. I don't remember much more than that."

"You made out for a while," Sara said. "You were rounding second base when I came downstairs. I broke it up, Gil took Warrick upstairs, and I covered you with a blanket so you could rest. You fell straight to sleep."

Catherine studied Sara's eyes, looking faintly relieved.

"That's all that happened?"

"That's it," Sara confirmed.

Catherine sighed. "Thank God. I mean, not that I'd mind, but –"

"Not like that," Sara finished, nodding.

She felt glad that she had interrupted them, and made the decision to end it when she did. She had no qualms about Warrick and Catherine starting a relationship, but did not want it to happen under circumstances which would bring her friend pain. And looking at Catherine's relief, she knew she had made the right call.

"Thanks," she said, face awash with sincerity. "For being a friend."

"You're welcome."

Catherine reached for her, and Sara hugged her back, rubbing her back. As they separated however Sara pressed the small package she had been hiding into Catherine's hand, and Catherine looked surprised as she glanced down and saw three wrapped condoms.

"You trying to say something?" Catherine teased.

Sara smiled. "I know it's not my business, but … it's just in case. Take care of yourself, okay?"

Catherine looked touched, and her eyes shone with gratitude for Sara's friendship as she slipped the condoms safely into the back pocket of her shorts. She leaned up to peck her on the cheek.

"Thanks. I mean, I'm not sure when we'd ever get the opportunity – I'm sharing a room with Sofia, sharing the house with four other adults, but –"

"I think where there's a will, there's a way," Sara said, grinning. "And if nothing else, I hear the barn's comfortable."

Catherine laughed. "So you _did_, then."

Sara grinned. "Just between us, yes we did."

Catherine raised an eyebrow, intrigued, but before they could pursue the subject Warrick called out from the living room.

"Hey, Cat! I've got those clothes you wanted, where do you want them?"

"Prince Charming calls," Sara teased.

"Don't start," Catherine warned.

But when she opened the door, her troubled expression of moments before had vanished, and she sailed out to take control with renewed confidence.

It was a strange kind of day, and in the end Sara's conversation with Catherine was the only thing that was really achieved. Sofia spent the day resting on the couch, and none of the others strayed far. Catherine kept busy by washing all their clothes by hand, and then carried the load outside and hung it up in the bright sun to dry, and Sara passed several hours of the afternoon in the armchair in the living room, reading a novel pulled from the family bookshelf. Grissom seemed intent on having a day of rest, and did not call any meetings or force any conversation beyond bringing in an edict that Sofia was to have no access to their medication supplies, forcing her therefore to ask for it, and allowing them to regain control.

It set the tone for next few days. With nothing to do but recuperate, Sara watched as one by one her colleagues managed to piece themselves back together. Catherine found the strength the next morning to tackle her relationship with Warrick, setting off with him on a long morning walk, and though when they left the house they were a foot away from each other, they returned over an hour later hand in hand, and Catherine confessed to Sara that they had spoken about their feelings, but resolved to take things slow. To that end, over the next few days Sara did not see them do anything more than kiss – kissing each other good morning and goodnight – and though Sara wondered what Warrick thought of the slow pace he showed no overt sign of being bothered by it. Catherine nevertheless improved under the steady stream of affection, and seemed to gradually recover.

Nevertheless the signs of trauma were evident in them all, and the effects of their ordeal carried into their behaviour. It was perhaps most obvious in Sofia, who spent her days lying on the couch in the living room, plagued by headaches, rarely venturing outside. She did not bother to hide her pain from them now, and when the others hugged her and fussed over her health she soaked up their affection with genuine gratitude, and though Sara still felt scared and powerless, she knew that the experience had at least brought them all together.

Nick lapsed into silence for the first two days, talking little to anyone except Sofia, prompting Grissom to take him for a dawn walk through the fields, and Sara learnt later from Grissom that Nick had confessed to him everything that happened to him and Sofia in Vegas – that he had been ambushed and held at gunpoint before Sofia, spotting him, had charged in and shot them all dead. They had then run to fetch Catherine and Warrick, and come to find Sara. Nick had apparently cried as he re-lived it, but Grissom had sat him down calmly under a tree and counselled him, and when they returned later Nick had been much calmer. Sara had spotted him reading a copy of the bible later that afternoon, but did not comment on it.

Out of all of them it was perhaps Warrick who had been the calmest. Sara suspected that his newfound relationship with Catherine had helped, and over the following days the two took to taking regular walks together through the hills and surrounding desert. After Grissom had cottoned on to their relationship, he had taken Warrick upstairs for a talk, and though Sara suspected he had sought some assurances and promises, he did not put a stop to the relationship. Warrick acted like a gentleman toward Catherine, and like the rest of them, also redoubled his efforts of friendship toward Sofia. He spent one afternoon doing a crossword with her, reading out the clues to her as she laid on the couch, and was ready with a hug for her whenever she began to look down.

For Catherine's part, other than her relationship with Warrick, the most obvious change was in her affection toward the group. She became more openly affectionate toward them all, and hugged and kissed them all regularly. Sara had no problem with it, as she found that Catherine's warm hugs were helpful in keeping the pain at bay, and when Catherine innocently followed up one of her hugs with a peck to the far corner of Sara's mouth the following day – much like she would a child or old friend – it didn't even occur to her to think anything of it, until Nick tried it an hour later, and Grissom's eyes blistered him from across the kitchen.

Sara had to fight down a smile as Grissom struggled to explain it to her an hour later upstairs, looking uncharacteristically stressed.

"I don't care what you do with Catherine and Sofia, but _please_ don't do that with Nick."

"It was innocent," she replied. "You're reading something into it that's not there."

"I know," he said. "But I don't care. Just please don't do it."

"If it worries you, all right."

"Thank you."

He looked relieved, and she settled the matter by planting an extra long kiss on his lips, illustrating the difference between a kiss with a friend and a lover, and she saw with satisfaction afterwards that he looked much more reassured. Nick did not dare to kiss Sara at all again – not even on the cheek – and the next morning even asked Grissom's permission before hugging her. Grissom missed the joke, and when Nick hugged her his hands landed on the centre of her back with mathematical precision and caution, and watching from across the room, Sofia smiled for the first time in days.

Sara's own healing happened haphazardly, and she found it hard to know how to feel. She felt mentally weary –strangely tired despite the fact that they did little but laze around all day – and yet the hugs she received from Grissom and the team helped. She spent a lot of her time reading novels from the family bookshelf downstairs, working her way through thrillers and several classics, and when she found herself pausing and reading the same paragraph over and over without comprehending it, she knew it wasn't coincidence that one of the others suddenly arrived at her side, ready with a hug. Catherine in particular was good at this, and seemed to develop a sense for whenever someone was in need, but Sara was glad that they did not force her to talk about it. They gave her the space she needed, and hugs to pull her through, and that was all she wanted. She sensed faintly that her sex life with Grissom had come to a standstill, as by the time they got to bed in the evenings she felt too weary to do anything but fall asleep, but she had little strength to think about it.

Several more days passed before they became active again, and recovered enough mentally to begin tackling some of the small problems waiting for them. When a rare cooler day came, and the sun disappeared behind some wispy cloud cover, the men began to talk about their food supplies, and a trip to town was agreed upon. Nick and Warrick quickly volunteered to partake in the hike, but when Sara offered to go with them, Grissom strangely argued that he needed her to take care of Sofia. Sara caught a glimpse of anguish in the backs of his eyes, and sensed his real motive was something far different, but did not call him on it. Her own memories of her last trip out were also still too fresh, and in the end, she felt little excitement about walking the five hours each way in any case. Catherine went in her place, and Sara spent the day relaxing with Grissom and Sofia.

After that came other initiatives which slowly crept into their daily life. Chief among them was what Warrick labelled 'reconnaissance' missions – trips to town and other farms to scrounge supplies of much needed items in a bid to make their lives easier. Warrick went in search of more candles and lighting, and returned later that day with two camping lanterns, and Nick found some tools to fix a loose section of tin on the roof. More water and food were also always in demand, and they gathered too a stock of medical supplies which Catherine thought it wise they keep for emergencies. This kit contained bandages and painkillers, plus items to perform stitches if it was ever required, and somehow over the following weeks, Catherine became the natural nurse of the group. She took charge of Sofia's recovery, keeping her meds in her pocket and forbidding her to do anything physically strenuous, and when Nick cut his toe on a stray nail in the verandah, it was Catherine who patched him up.

Over the following week they fixed the roof and mended the ancient clothesline, chopped firewood for the cool nights, sourced a supply of seeds in preparation for a vague plan of a future vegetable garden, and even began to ration the tank water until it rained again. The rain however, seemed at least a few months away, and the summer days remained blisteringly hot. Despite the fact that they had long washed and cleaned their clothes, none of them ever bothered to dress fully again, and Sara had not worn socks or even her jeans since their failed trip to Vegas. She wore her shirt loosely over her bra, sometimes buttoned and sometimes not, occasionally matched with a pair of borrowed shorts, and Catherine too, walked around mostly in her underwear. Both Nick and Warrick spent most days in only boxer shorts, and even Grissom had long dispensed with his formal work pants. Partly this was all because it was simply too scorching hot to bother with much clothing, and yet partly also because after what they had been through, none of them cared anymore. If Grissom did ask them to put clothes on, it was solely due to the need for protection from the sun when working outside, and once or twice he brought out long-sleeved shirts for Nick and Catherine to drape around them, shielding their pale skin from the powerful Nevada sun.

Sofia was the only one among them who did not work. Forbidden to take part, she spent most of her days resting inside, and then, when she began to feel a little better, began to sit outside with them. She would sit on the swing seat on the verandah, or beside them under a tree as they worked or debated a problem, and on the scorching hot afternoons, she even brought them cool drinks to refresh them. Sara felt glad that she was beginning to look a little better, but knew that the danger was not over yet. In the evenings at dusk the group spent time with her – Grissom reading her stories as he had after her accident, Catherine painting her nails and gossiping, and as night set in they headed for bed. Their sleeping hours naturally adjusted to align with daylight, and in the absence of electricity, Sara found this natural.

All in all, the fortnight after Sofia's breakdown passed with relative ease, but though Sara knew they had been lucky, she could still not shake the weariness that lingered heavy within her, and the pain that the hugs only went part way in vanquishing.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Grissom asked, as he climbed into bed with her one hot evening.

"I'm fine," Sara assured, and tried to smile. "We'll all be okay."

But he did not look satisfied as she wriggled down into bed to get comfortable, and as she closed her eyes she could still not bear to think about what had happened, or worse still – what might be waiting for them.

* * *

_Sincere thanks to those who left feedback after the last chapter - you keep me writing and it's so much appreciated. Hope everyone like this one. :)_


	14. Chapter 14

A month after their arrival, Sara stood at the far back fence of the property, staring out at the ever-reaching desert. The sight was beautiful, beautiful in a way that was so unique to rugged Nevada, where the wild, lonely plains sprouted with life that knew nothing but stubborn resilience. The grass in the valley behind their property was a foot high, and as dry and brittle as straw after the months of scorching summer heat, and yet it still shone under the sun's rays, at complete peace. It was this tranquil calm that Sara liked about it, a world unbothered by everything that plagued Sara's mind, and it was why she had taken to roaming through the peaceful plains. For the past week she had gone for long walks after breakfast, letting the bitter endurance of nature relax her, but this was the first time that she had been forced into having company.

She could feel Grissom studying her closely as he paused beside her, as if taking notes on her mood. His eyes flicked between her and the desert horizon far ahead, as if trying to latch on to what captivated her, and to unravel the inner workings of her mind. She herself had to make no effort to understand his – the arm that he had placed around her shoulders in the kitchen moments earlier had been woefully obvious, and his gentle words of "Let's take a walk" had left none of the group in doubt. It had been too reminiscent of his actions toward Nick several weeks prior, when Nick had barely spoken to anyone for two whole days, and Grissom had been forced to take him outside for a walk to counsel him. As Sara gazed out at the desert she could feel the same talk coming, but stared resolutely ahead, unsure if she was in the mood – even for Grissom.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he began.

She looked to him, feeling only faintly surprised that he had read her with such perfect insight. But he gave her only a slip of a glance before leaning on the fence, and talking on.

"I think that sometimes it seems so rare that we get to actually pause and observe the world, to appreciate all the fine wonders of nature. When we were in the office every day in Vegas I used to wish we could get out here more often, to go for a hike maybe, but the demands of real life seem to always keep it just out of reach. I suppose sometimes things don't go as want them to – but it's not bad, either."

"Are you feeling philosophical?" she queried.

She was in no mood to attempt to keep up with his cryptic insights into the human condition; she felt too mentally weary, too tired of everything.

"No," he replied. "I'm feeling honest. Clear-headed, even."

He looked at her, as if inviting her to comment that she felt the same way, but Sara declined the invitation. She looked back out to the grasslands, saying nothing.

"I'm not saying our situation's perfect," he explained, "it's been incredibly hard, and we've all felt it. But if we choose to think positively, I think you could argue there's been some good too."

"Good?" Sara repeated, trying to keep her tone calm despite her stunned disbelief. "There's no _good_ in this. We're stuck in a world which has been ravaged by a pandemic, where the only survivors are cut-throat killers, we've all nearly been killed, I was nearly _raped_, we're cut off from everyone's families, and we have no help or contact whatsoever with the outside world. Did I miss the memo on the bright side, here?"

He did not challenge her, but listened with such complete calm and patient attention that she felt suddenly inadequate for her emotional outburst, and regretted commenting. He allowed her a moment before responding.

"We're stuck here, that's a given," Grissom said. "And everything you've just listed is an example of why it's been hard. We can't change what happened – we have no choice over that – but we are in control over how we respond to it. The truth is, we're not dead yet. And as long as we have each other, we're not alone either. I understand why you find it hard – you're someone who likes to feel secure, to feel in control and know what to expect when you get out of bed each day, and there's not much of that security here. But we have each other – we have our health and our friendship, and if we allow what happened to destroy us, then we might as well bury ourselves alive. There's still your life to be lived, and may not be exactly as planned, but we definitely haven't lost everything."

"The bright side," Sara said, softening as she understood what he meant. "That every glass is half full? That every cloud has a silver lining?"

"Perhaps," he said, shrugging. "If the person chooses to _see_ it. You know, you say that we almost died on that trip to Vegas, and maybe that's true. We were lucky to escape with our lives. But I think maybe that's the point. I for one feel grateful that we didn't. I'm thankful that we all got out unscathed, that we get a second chance. I'm thankful every day that your attacker didn't succeed. I'm thankful Sofia survived that night when all the evidence says that she shouldn't have. And you know, I'm thankful that despite everything, out here it feels peaceful. I haven't seen a dead body or crime committed in over a month. There's no drugs, no violence … here, in our corner of the world, it's peaceful. And I'm grateful for that much."

Sara did not know what to say, his positivity clashing with her heavy sense of trauma. After a moment he stepped closer, and put an arm around her, massaging her shoulder and neck as he talked on into her ear.

"I know you're upset," he said. "It's okay to feel traumatised. But lean on me. Talk to me about it, and I can help. Let it out a little instead of bottling it up. If you do that, it'll make it worse. And if you can't talk to me, if what happened in Vegas is still bothering you, then talk to Catherine. She'll understand – she can help."

Sara looked back out to the horizon, to the clear blue sky, not knowing what to think. It was hard to pinpoint what bothered her, but as his reassuring hand massaged her shoulder, she could not bring herself to blame him for asking. It sat uncomfortably in the back of her mind that they had not made love for a month, not since that drunken night when they had returned from Vegas. She had not felt up to it since then, and though she knew he had to have noticed, and been wondering, he had not questioned her on it. Unlike most men, Grissom was wonderfully patient.

She looked back to him as he held her, and he responded by slipping his arms further around her, drawing her to him. She leaned her head against his chest, sighing and closing her eyes as his lips grazed her hair.

"I'm sorry," she confessed. "I know things haven't been the same lately, and that we haven't made love in –"

"This isn't about sex," he said, cutting in gently. "If you need time, that's fine. There's no rush."

He kissed her hair again, and she felt a rush of gratitude for his love. She knew he had been right, and that she had to talk to someone. It would be easy to talk to Catherine, to perhaps go upstairs with her and talk through her feelings over her assault – she knew Catherine, or even Sofia, would be nothing but understanding – but as Grissom held her she knew she did not want that. There was only one person she wanted to talk to about that issue.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

He did not even hesitate, but drew her with him to sit down in the grass, holding her hand.

"Sure," he said. "Come here."

And taking a deep breath, Sara began to talk.

XXX

They spoke for nearly an hour, sitting there in the sunshine by the old wooden fence, discussing everything from their abrupt arrival in their alternate world, to the future, and everything in between. Grissom held her the whole time, grasping her hand as she spoke about her fears and concerns, his fingers clutching and roving over hers, and then holding her to him as she spoke about her terror during her assault. It felt good to get it off her chest, good to sit there with his comforting arms around her as she shed a few tears, and good to know that it was all okay. She knew he loved her, that he had protected her when it had counted, and for that she felt nothing but powerful love for him. Logically, too, she knew that even if he had not been nearby and come to her rescue, the others would have saved her, and between this and his actions she felt protected, and able to leave the memory behind, like a weight lifted from her shoulders.

Somehow, inexplicably, the embrace had led to them making love right there in the grass, wrapped up in a moment of warmth and love which just seemed so natural. They did it slowly, gently re-exploring each other, Grissom taking his time to rain kisses over her naked chest as Sara straddled him, her back to the warm sun. When he took her left nipple in his mouth she drew in a sharp breath – and held it, a thought suddenly occurring to her.

"Wait, we can't, we need a –"

"I have one," he said.

His hand left her hip and rummaged in his pocket, pulling out a condom. She raised a teasing eyebrow, surprised.

"I didn't plan this," he assured, catching her smile. "It's coincidence, I promise."

"Sure it is," she replied, grinning.

He fumbled with it for a moment, and Sara hovered, wishing he would hurry up. It felt so wonderful in the sun, with him beneath her.

"Put it on," she commanded.

He tore open the plastic, but then hesitated.

"Are you sure you're ready?"

His eyes studied her, evidently wondering. She quickly kissed him in reply, and moved to tug down his shorts.

"I'm _more_ than ready – right now I need you to hurry up."

She grinned as he slipped on the condom, and then he reached for her, holding her to him. The questioning look again appeared in his eyes, uncertain.

"Would you like to see the evidence?" she teased.

"As a matter of fact, I would," he replied, straight-faced.

She did not need to direct him, as his fingers slipped of their own accord between her legs to her panties, and she felt him probe the wet spot there through the fabric.

"Take them off," he ordered.

There was no graceful way to do this, and Sara ended up having to stand to achieve it, kicking them from her ankles as he sat on the ground, watching with an adoring smile. She giggled as she rejoined him, and his hands took her hips, positioning her.

She saw the questioning look again appear in his eyes, and hastened to wipe it from him.

"If you ask again you're in trouble," she teased.

He raised a hand in mock surrender.

"I'm at your service," he replied.

Sara smiled as she leaned forward to kiss him, and his arms encircled her as she slowly and carefully took him inside her. They took their time, both of them wanting and needing it to last, Sara absorbing his love with every movement. She came first – noisily, and rejoicing in the ability to make noise for once without the others listening in – and when he followed her he lay out of breath, flushed from the exertion. His arm moved to tug her against him, and she lay contently curled into his side.

She blinked in the bright sun, and the dry grass was slightly rough to lie naked upon, but she nevertheless felt very pleasantly satisfied.

"You know what I think?" she asked.

"What?" he replied.

"That was the best counselling session I've ever had."

He smiled, still out of breath but looking pleased with himself. "It's definitely better than the one I had with Nick."

She grinned. "I would certainly hope so."

He looked sideways to her, taking her in as she lay perched up on one elbow. His eyes dipped to her breasts.

"If you need any follow-up sessions, just let me know."

"I'll do that," she assured.

And after that, they made love again.

XXX

It was perhaps unfortunate that the second time they made love they chose to do it against the fence, as the result was a splinter in Sara's right hand. She felt little during the act itself; perched precariously on the top railing with her legs spread she felt nothing but euphoria as he thrust himself hungrily into her, hard and fast and making up for a month of lost opportunity, and it wasn't until she had orgasmed for a second time and slipped wearily off the railing that she felt the stinging in her index finger. Looking down to examine it, she saw the long splinter embedded under the skin, and winced. It was deep.

"I'm sorry," Grissom said, catching a glance as he pulled on his shorts. "Maybe I should've been a bit less vigorous."

"No," Sara said, grinning with afterglow. "You definitely _shouldn't_ be less vigorous."

He grinned – somehow, even after two years, Grissom still always looked like the cat that got the cream after having sex with her. She was lucky that he had never grown tired of it.

"I can't see it well without my glasses," he said, holding her hand to examine it. "We'll have to get Catherine to pull it out back at the house – she has some tweezers."

"Then I guess I should be glad that it's in my finger and not somewhere else," Sara quipped. "That'd be a bit harder to explain."

"At least it would've stopped them joking about our 'roll in the hay'," he ventured.

"And replaced that joke with something far worse," Sara replied, putting her bra back on.

She nevertheless smiled as they headed up through the long grass back toward the house – looking out for snakes along the way – but quickly stifled the smile as they got closer, not wanting to give anything away. They walked up the back steps and through the house to the front verandah, where they found Catherine and Sofia relaxing as they watched the men splitting wood outside the barn. Warrick and Nick both had their shirts off, their bulging muscles glistening with sweat in the sunshine, and Sara saw Sofia slip Catherine a covert grin of appreciation as Nick took the axe. Quickly summing up the scene, Sara found it hard to tell who was enjoying themselves more – Nick trying to impress Sofia, or Sofia openly enjoying the view.

Grissom was oblivious.

"Catherine, we need the tweezers. Sara has a splinter in her finger."

Catherine looked up, distracted from where she had been leaning on the verandah railing, and quickly sighed, slipping into nurse mode.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"She got it climbing the fence down the back," Grissom said. "We went for a walk."

"You were gone nearly two hours," Sofia said, wandering over. "We were starting to get worried."

"We talked a while," Sara explained.

"She got woozy," Grissom said. "We had to sit down for a bit."

Though he said it seriously, his eyes were alight with playful adoration. Apart from his cat-that-got-the-cream expression, she had long found that Grissom was at his most playful after sex, when he felt relaxed, and did not mind teasing her to draw a smile out of her.

"You got woozy," Catherine repeated, deadpan.

After so many years working as a CSI, and wading through endless pools of blood, Sara was not surprised that Catherine found this impossible to believe.

"Tweezers, Catherine," Grissom reminded her, falling serious again.

"Cupboard in the bathroom, top shelf," she recited.

Grissom disappeared to fetch them for her, but as soon as he was through the door Sofia's face split into an intuitive smile.

"Tell me you didn't," she said, as Catherine similarly raised an amused eyebrow.

Deciding to quickly head them off – at least for now – Sara lied.

"Actually, we didn't," she said. She let her expression turn serious as she thought back over what they had in fact talked about. "We sat down and spoke about what happened that day, in that room in Vegas."

Sofia's smile vanished, replaced by instant concern.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Sara said, truthfully. "We went through the whole thing, we talked about it, and it's okay. I'm going to be fine."

"Honestly?" Catherine asked, peering at her closely.

"Honestly," Sara confirmed. Then, already missing Grissom's arms, chanced adding, "Can I have a hug, though?"

"_Always_," Catherine said, reaching for her. "You don't even have to ask."

She pecked Sara on the cheek, and hugged her warmly. As she held her she spoke in Sara's ear.

"If you need to talk, come to me, okay? I'm here for you."

"Thanks," Sara replied, hugging her back.

Catherine had a way at saying exactly what Sara needed to hear, and though she was not as good with words as Catherine was, she returned her hug with deep sincerity, more grateful than she could ever express for her friendship. As they parted Sofia moved in, and Sara gratefully accepted a warm hug from her too before Grissom returned.

"Here," he said, handing Catherine the tweezers.

"You'd better do it," she said, handing them in turn to Sofia. "Your eyes are younger."

Sofia drew Sara over into the sunlight, and then spent a moment examining the wound before moving in.

"This thing's deep," she reported. "If you're squeamish, you might want to look away."

Sara felt Grissom's hand on her back, as if just in case she _was_ squeamish, but elected all the same not to watch. She focused ahead instead at Nick splitting the wood, and felt Sofia tighten her grip on her fingers before the tweezers made contact.

"Hold very still …"

Sara kept her eyes averted as she felt Sofia gently dig around, but a moment later it was over.

"Got it," Sofia reported, removing the tweezers. "You'll need to apply some antiseptic, though, we can't afford for anything to get infected out here."

She passed Sara's hand back to Catherine, who was ready with the bottle to cleanse the wound.

"Thanks," Sara said.

As Catherine dabbed at the wound, Grissom narrowed his eyes with sudden puzzlement, as if wondering at their choice of location squeezed into the far corner of the verandah, when the swing seat was perfectly vacant at the other end.

"Why are we standing here, anyway?" he asked Sofia.

Sofia looked around, and for a brief moment her eyes met Sara's, sharing a smile, but when she answered him her tone was serious.

"We're … just enjoying the view," she said.

Grissom looked out to the fields, his eyes completely passing over Nick and Warrick.

"Well it's good to see you getting some air," he said kindly.

Sofia shared a flicker of amused disbelief with Catherine, who had to fight not to laugh.

"That's not what she meant," she said, giving him a look.

Grissom was completely at sea for a moment – until Sara let her eyes drift significantly to Nick by the barn, who threw a split log onto a growing pile inside the door. When autumn came and the cooler nights hit, they would need firewood, and now seemed as a good a time as any to start gathering it.

Catching on, his eyes snapped back to Sofia in alarm, and he held out a hand as if to stall her, searching for words.

"What?" she asked, puzzled by his expression.

"You need to take it easy," he said carefully.

Sofia smiled. "I _am_ taking it easy. In case you haven't noticed, I haven't lifted anything heavier than a tampon in over a month now. I can't take it any easier than that."

"Relax, we're just window shopping," Catherine said, coming to her rescue. "Girl talk."

Grissom looked uncertain, and his eyes hovered between them for a moment before Catherine slipped him a covert look of warning.

Sara put a hand to his elbow to draw him away, but Grissom didn't seem to feel it.

"Just be careful," he said to Sofia. "Take care of yourself. We're all just concerned."

Though he steered carefully around saying it, Sara had an inkling of what he was referring to – to the dangers of Sofia putting pressure on her body if she engaged in a physical relationship. Although it had been a month since her collapse, they could still not be sure that she was all right. Her headaches remained, some days worse than others, but it remained possible that she had a bleed in the brain, and it was for this reason that they had banned her from all physical exertion. They had to assume something was badly wrong, and that it could still drop her in a second if they put her under strain. The first time they had been very lucky, the next time they might not be.

It was a suspicion which was confirmed by the discrete look of warning in Catherine's eyes, and the sudden awkwardness in Sofia's.

"I'll be fine," she said.

"Good," he replied.

He clutched her shoulder, and she nodded to him, accepting the gesture. But as he turned to take the tweezers and antiseptic from Catherine there remained a wistful look in his eyes, as if he wished they could only have her health status confirmed.

It was a feeling Sara shared, and after he had disappeared back inside Sara turned to her, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"You'll be fine," she said, spotting the look of faint anxiety still in her eyes. "You've come such a long way already, a bit more rest and it'll be nothing more than a memory."

"Yeah," Sofia said curtly, "A bad one."

And gently shrugging Sara's arm from her shoulders, she retreated back inside.

* * *

_Another one of those chapters where there's just no ideal place to cut it - so the cut goes here, and the rest will have to wait for the next one. It's funny sometimes how characters have minds of their own - you tell them to do one thing and they end up doing another. I told Grissom to talk to Sara and they ended up having sex - wasn't planned I promise - that was their idea, not mine. Next chapter will continue the Nick/Sofia & Cath/Warrick threads, before I bring back in some more action._

_Would love to hear what you think - hopefully it's going okay... Anna._


	15. Chapter 15

Autumn came, and with it, the cooler days arrived. The scorching heat of summer faded until it was long behind them, and the days became both shorter and more temperate. The skies remained a perfect blue, the sunshine pleasant, but they were now preceded by the first hint of a chill in the air, the dawn blanketed by mists hovering serenely over the fields, the grass now covered by glistening dew. Sara now routinely hunted for her jeans and shoes before she left for her morning walks, but came to appreciate them more as she took in the changing of the seasons. Apart from the mists and the dew, she saw with satisfaction that parts of the fields were recovering a hint of green, and that the three beautiful old oak trees around the house were starting to lose their leaves as they prepared to bed down for winter.

The nights, too, changed. The cooler temperatures caused Sara to dig in their wardrobe in search of a second blanket for their bed, and the window which had previously remained open of a night was now firmly closed. Her love life with Grissom also improved as a result of the cooler weather, the chill causing them to snuggle into each other, and Sara found themselves cosily making love nearly every night. It still happened silently, the walls too thin for noise, and yet under the glow of soft moonlight, and in that cosy old country bed, it was nothing short of blissful. Indeed, as autumn settled in it brought with it such a sense of serene calm that Sara found that she was quite content with life, the trauma now behind them, the days now so pleasant that she no longer missed Vegas, and some days, did not even remember to think about it.

The others, too, relaxed. Grissom, who had previously spent so much time guarding the mental health of the team, now settled down into a new life of trips to town and long nature walks, and also took up cooking and resumed his interest in entomology. Sara watched with amusement as he returned from one trip to town with a fish tank he had rescued from a far outlying farm, wheeling it all the way back to the house in a wheelbarrow before he set it up on the front verandah as a house for his new charges. He unearthed an old rickety table from the barn to stand it on, dusting off the cobwebs, and then went to forage for sticks and leaves to furnish it with. Catherine paused outside the kitchen door as she watched him carefully layer the leaves into the tank, her face contorted with a look of combined amusement and revulsion.

"Tell me that's not coming inside the house," she said bluntly.

Grissom looked up at her, where she stood with her arms folded, and held out a placating hand.

"It's staying out here. You won't have to touch it."

"Or clean it," Sara said, knowing what she was thinking.

It had caused Sara some amusement over the preceding months to watch the two attempt to adjust to living with each other. Doing each other's laundry they could handle, and hanging each other's underclothes out to dry, or folding them afterwards, caused no discernible awkwardness. Yet Catherine had complained loudly at the "stink" Grissom had left in the bathroom when he had retreated in there for an hour with a crossword, and similarly, when Grissom had stumbled in on Catherine waxing her legs, one foot perched up on the toilet seat, he had hovered in the doorway with such a look of confused displacement that Sara had been moved to investigate. Catherine, unfazed as ever, merely joked that she was about to do her bikini line if he wanted to hang around and watch that too, causing Grissom to quickly flee. Sara shared a laugh about it with Catherine and Sofia later, but it had been just one of many moments in which he had had to adjust to living with three women.

Leaning against the verandah railing, Sara actually felt pleased that Grissom had found another hobby to occupy him, but found that her sympathy still did not quite extend to reaching in and getting her own hands dirty.

Sofia, apparently, felt the same.

"You know," she said, adopting a look of distant thought, "I was just thinking that what we really need around here is a few more bugs."

"You can never have too many creepy crawlies," Catherine chimed in.

"Did you know the ecosystem would collapse without them?" Grissom challenged. "That human beings themselves would cease to exist?"

"No," Sofia said. "But I'd be fascinated to hear all about it."

Grissom stopped just in time, realising as he opened his mouth to speak that she was smiling. He hesitated.

"You're winding me up."

"Only a little," she admitted.

He stood, dusting off his hands in an effort to expel the granules of mud stubbornly stuck to his fingers. Sara, though she privately agreed with Sofia, felt sorry for him as he tried to wipe them clean.

"You know everyone needs a hobby," she said fairly.

Catherine nodded. "Whatever happened to stamp collecting?"

"Well unfortunately they're in short supply," Grissom said.

He passed a small smile to Sara, grateful as ever for her allegiance, and a short while later Catherine and Sofia retreated for a walk up the nearby hillside. All of them went for walks so often now that they had carved out trails in the grass, the dirt paths snaking their up the hills and down into the meadows, and here and there were sections in which a large patch of grass was flattened, marking their favourite viewpoints where they had whiled away lazy afternoons. It had been a while before any of them had let Sofia partake in the walks, but gradually, ever so carefully, Catherine had begun to encourage it. Sofia's weeks on the couch had taken a toll on her physical fitness, and as her muscles wasted Catherine became concerned. The result was daily walks and light exercise, and as her headaches improved it had become ever more frequent. Now, as Sara watched the two disappear over the rise, she found herself reflecting on how far Sofia had come. Three months on from her head injury, she was just about back to her old self, and had even participated on her first hike to town, but the months had not passed without trouble.

The trouble came in the form of Nick. Sara had known all along that Nick and Sofia nurtured soft spots for each other, but as the weeks passed after Sofia's collapse it had become apparent that their relationship had evolved. It happened subtly, so discretely that Sara could not even pinpoint exactly when it had happened, but nevertheless the signs began to show. Nick fussed over her health, regularly fetching her water or asking Catherine for medication, and when she was struck down by pain, he was the first to her side. On the bad days he sat with her hours, distracting her from the pain with tales of his childhood, cheeky tales of his Texas upbringing which drew a smile to Sofia's face. The first time this had happened Sara had been in the armchair opposite reading, and as Nick's story progressed and his tone lowered so that they were both completely oblivious to her presence, she began to feel suddenly intrusive. When she saw him take her hand, she slipped quietly from the room, taking her book to read out on the swing seat on the verandah.

Thereafter the two became increasingly affectionate with each other. They hugged each other good morning and goodnight – long, intimate hugs in which they held each other so closely that Sara, inadvertently passing them in the corridor upstairs, felt guilty for intruding upon their private moment. They hugged, too, frequently during the day, Nick the first to hug her when she was in pain, feeling low, or often just because she was there. His arm seemed to be permanently draped around her shoulders or rested around her waist, and Sofia smiled at his touches. Soon after, Sara had returned from her routine morning walk to find the two of them kissing in the kitchen, Nick with her pressed up back against the kitchen bench as he gently devoured her, and Sara had stopped short as the wire door clanged noisily behind her.

Nick and Sofia quickly broke apart, both turning to her.

"I'm sorry," Sara said, feeling herself go red. "I didn't mean to –"

"It's okay," Nick said, stepping away from Sofia to invite her in. "Don't fret, it's your house too. Come on in, we were just making breakfast."

They took it so casually that Sara immediately suspected that it was not their first kiss, and it was a suspicion which was confirmed a few hours later when she confessed the scene to Grissom and Catherine in the confines of the barn. The nights were getting cool, and they had begun to light the fire in the evenings to ward off the chill which leaked in through the windows. Nick and Warrick had stored enough firewood in the barn to survive an apocalypse – which Sara considered was a good thing – and as she set the tray down on a hay bale to load it, she had confessed the story to her two friends.

"… You know I actually felt embarrassed," she finished, "but they didn't even bat an eyelid."

"They've been tight for a while," Grissom said, picking up a particularly heavy log to load it for her. "He can barely let go of her long enough to go to the bathroom."

"I walked in on them playing tonsil hockey yesterday," Catherine contributed, brushing a stray piece of straw from her jeans. "They were cosied up on the window seat of our bedroom when I walked in. He had his hand halfway up her shirt."

Grissom paused with his hand around a log.

"Do you think that's wise?"

"Why are you looking at me?" she asked, shrugging. "It wasn't _my_ hand."

"Or her shirt," Sara quipped, sharing a smile with the redhead.

"That's not the point," Grissom said. "She's still having headaches. Granted, they're less than they were, but we still can't be sure she's healed. If she continues to improve, we might know then, but right now, if she proceeds into a sexual relationship and there _is_ damage … the pressure on her blood vessels, the rise in blood pressure alone if she orgasms …"

Catherine nodded, looking disturbed.

"I know," she said quietly.

"I don't think it's worth the risk," he finished.

Sara sat down on a hay bale, watching the dying afternoon sun play on the smattering of straw that littered the entrance to the barn. She was in two minds – fully agreeing with Grissom's concerns, and yet sympathetic to the fact that it was none of their business. It was hard to know what to do.

"The problem is, it's not up to us," she ventured. "She's an adult, it's her body, she has the right to make her own choices."

"Exactly," Catherine said. "And if we confront them on it, they'll dig their heels in. No one likes to be lectured on what they can and can't do."

"I'm not talking about lecturing her," Grissom said. "Just making sure that they both understand the risks, and that he's careful."

"Well if you want to sit them both down and have a sex talk, go right ahead," Catherine said. "But I'm sure she already understands the risks. She's the one who's been living with this for the last few months. And she's not stupid – she's at least as smart as any of us. She knows clearly what's going on."

"Besides," Sara said, feeling strangely flat, "short of strapping her into a chastity belt, there's nothing we can do to stop them."

"I agree. And she knows her body, what's she's capable of, we just have to trust her."

Grissom still looked worried, but resigned, he nodded. He loaded the last log into the tray beside Sara, and Sara heard nothing more about it until later that night. She had just been wondering if they had done the right thing, if they should be working harder to protect Sofia after their previous failure to protect her, when Sofia surprised them by unexpectedly raising the subject herself.

Sara had been sitting on the window seat of their bedroom, calmly watching the first of the night stars begin to twinkle over the desert, when she realised that all had fallen quiet around her. The three women frequently hung out in the upstairs bedroom together, and though it was never planned, Sara had been pleasantly surprised to discover just how much she had missed having female friends. It had been years since she'd really had any – since being a CSI she had had few friends at all, let alone close female confidantes – and the strength of the friendship that had grown between herself and Catherine and Sofia had been one of the more pleasant surprises of their situation. It was so nice to hang out with the girls again, to share and joke, to feel like a woman again. As she took in the view that night she had kept her eyes averted as Sofia changed – putting on a pair of flannel pyjamas which she had long adopted – but then stopped as the silence failed to break.

She glanced over her shoulder: Catherine was by her bed, tossing of a pair of dirty socks into the makeshift laundry hamper that stood in the corner, but Sofia was sat quietly on her bed, apparently lost in thought.

"You okay?" Sara asked.

She saw Catherine's eyes instinctively search out Sofia, but Sofia didn't immediately respond. She looked dejected, her ponytail hanging forward over her shoulder, and was far too engrossed in some mystery in her fingertips.

"Just thinking," she replied.

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't look like a happy thought."

"What's up?" Sara asked.

She knew Sofia well enough by now to know that something was wrong, and left the window seat to go join her on the bed. Sofia had the softest bed in the house, the handmade patchwork quilt so thick that Sara sank into it, but Sofia paid her no heed.

"Come on," Catherine said, crossing the worn rug barefoot to join them. "You can talk to us. You know the three of us don't have any secrets – not these days."

It was the truth. It was not only Grissom's relationship with Catherine that had changed with their living together – the same was true for all of them. Sara knew her friends now so intimately that there wasn't much at all about them that escaped her notice. It was not only the small things – she knew all their moods, wounds and idiosyncrasies, but also knew a lot of what was private. She knew about their sex lives – that Catherine and Warrick were both heroically abstaining until things calmed; she knew what underwear they wore and their preferences, and she even knew when it was their time of month. With them sharing a bathroom, and fetching supplies for each other from town it was impossible to hide, and the last time Catherine had gone to town she had returned with a pack of pads for Sara without even being asked. She simply knew, able to read the signs with flawless women's intuition. It was this same intuition now which told Sara what was coming, evident in Sofia's downcast body language.

"Is this about Nick?" she probed. "Did something happen?"

She knew she had hit the nail on the head when Sofia's eyes flew up, surprised.

"You can tell us," Catherine said, placing a hand on her knee.

Sofia took a breath. "It's just … with what happened to me the other month … I know what you're all thinking."

Sara hesitated, not committing to what she hoped would not be a dire conversation about the prospect of death. She did not want to depress her by discussing it.

"Thinking what?" Catherine asked.

"About my relationship with Nick," Sofia said. "Where it stands. I know Grissom's worried."

"Sofia," Sara said, shaking her head, "it's your body, not Grissom's. He's not the one sleeping with Nick, you are. And you know better than anyone how you feel."

"Just do what feels right," Catherine said, rubbing her knee. "If you feel fine, go for it. If not, just tell him you need more time – Nick will understand."

Sofia nodded, though did not look more at ease.

"Are you worried?" Sara asked.

"A little," Sofia admitted.

Sara did not hold it against her, knowing that anyone would be a fool to not be worried, and she slipped an arm around her friend's waist, holding her.

"It's your call," she said. "It might not mean that you can't, just that you'd be wise to be gentle. Make sure he knows how you feel, that you both take it easy, at a time when you're both ready."

"And remember, there's no rush," Catherine added. "There's no reason why you have to jump into bed right away. Take your time – let yourself heal a little more."

"You've … waited with Warrick?"

Sofia's eyes probed Catherine for a response, and Catherine hesitated for a moment before plunging into an honest answer.

"Yes, we have. I'll admit it's not my usual style, and you know initially it was at Grissom's request – he was worried about where my head was, that it was too soon, and Warrick respects Grissom so much that he refused to lay a hand on me. But, you know now I think he's right. In Vegas, it's different, but stranded out here … we're so isolated, living in each other's pockets … if something goes wrong, it could get awkward. Plus we've all been traumatised, and I think that alone is reason to wait."

"But, you will…?"

"When the time's right," Catherine answered, nodding. "And maybe we're getting there. But for the first time in my life, I'm content to wait."

Sara stayed silent, unable to contribute to the topic of abstaining. Herself and Grissom had been doing it nearly every day, whether in bed at night or out in a secluded meadow on their long daily walk, and she also knew that both Sofia and Catherine knew this. They knew her as intimately as she knew them.

"Just talk to him," Catherine said. "Tell him you need time. "And if it makes you feel better, I'll wait with you. Then there's no pressure."

Sofia looked up. "You'd do that?"

"For you, yes. In a heartbeat."

Catherine said it so firmly and sincerely that Sofia simply stared at her for a moment, but then her features melted into a smile, touched. The two reached for each other and hugged, Sofia pecking her on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome," Catherine replied.

Though touched at what Catherine had done, Sara was nevertheless secretly glad that she did not have to chip in to the vow of chastity, and was even more glad to learn that Warrick took it well. She happened to overhear the conversation – Catherine not bothering to hide it from her as they made coffee in the kitchen the next morning – and though Warrick looked surprised, he did not seem to mind at all.

"You promised that?" he asked.

"I had to," Catherine said, quietly apologetic. "I think she needs some support for a while. She has Nick pressuring her, Grissom and Sara already involved, and if it's us too it just makes it worse. Hopefully it won't be for long – just a few weeks until her headaches clear up."

"If her headaches clear, then we'll know she's okay," Warrick agreed. "That'll mean her brain's healing."

"Right," Catherine agreed. "Besides," she added coyly, hand on his belt, "I'll make it up to you."

Out of the corner of her eye Sara saw Warrick's eyes light up with rapt interest. His hands encircled her waist.

"Well I like the sound of that," he teased.

He moved to kiss her, and Catherine pressed herself up against his chest as she let him. Her mouth opened quickly, and Sara, tempted to clear her throat but resisting the urge, moved instead into the living room to give them privacy. Privacy was not easy to come by when they all lived together, but she considered that Catherine and Warrick had probably both earned a few moments of it.

It was the same lack of privacy that led Sara to also overhear Sofia's conversation with Nick, which occurred out on the verandah as Sara dried the dinner dishes with Grissom. The nearby kitchen door was open, the wire door the only thing separating them from the night, and Nick and Sofia's voices wafted in from their position out on the swing seat.

"You make me sound like a sex maniac," Nick complained. "I'm not an addict, I can wait. I care about you."

"It's just … I know you'd rather not," Sofia said.

"Well if you were healthy, maybe, but you had a serious head injury, I understand that. It's okay, all right? Don't worry about it, we can be patient. We'll wait 'til you're ready. I mean just because Grissom and Sara are humping all over the place, it doesn't mean we have to – it's not a competition, here."

"Humping?"

There was a tilt of a laugh in Sofia's voice. Sara looked sideways to Grissom, trying to bite down on a smile. He raised an eyebrow, merely intrigued.

"Well whatever you want to call it," Nick said. "He hasn't put her down since we got here. He's a leader, you'd think he'd be setting an example here."

"He's in love," Sofia argued. "And what makes you think it's Grissom initiating it?"

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing. Just that she's thirty-five and in her prime."

There was a pause.

"What?" Sofia queried.

"Nothing," Nick replied. "Just thinking … you two are the same age …"

Sofia laughed. "Three months apart. You can call that something to look forward to."

There was the sound of the two sharing a quick kiss, and then a contented sigh from Sofia, as if the two were embracing.

"Don't worry about it, okay?" Nick said. "We're good. I'll take care of you."

There was the sound of more kissing – sedate, loving, and in no hurry whatsoever – and Sara was glad when she looked down and saw they had only one plate left to go. It allowed for a quick escape to give them some privacy – something she had been doing a lot of since the other two couples had hooked up.

By the time autumn had set in and Grissom had adopted his insect tank, little had changed. Sofia's headaches continued to improve, and Sara finally allowed herself to believe that her friend was healing. The realisation was accompanied by a deep sense of relief, the fear and risks fading like the summer heat behind them, and with it came a period of perfect contentment. Sara spent her days hiking, reading, and engaging in trips to town, and the group also shared regular picnics together. Sara watched Catherine sink into Warrick's arms, resting sleepily in the 'V' between his legs, and knew from the way his fingers played with her waistband that they were struggling to hold on. Yet looking at Nick and Sofia, who were hopelessly glued to each other like newlyweds, Sara knew that none of them would have long to wait, and that as soon as an opportune moment presented itself, the four of them would all collapse into bed like dominoes.

She realised with a smile that she did not care, and all in all, life seemed too perfect to be true – so blissful that it seemed like a lifetime ago that they had lived in Las Vegas. It was a cruel twist of fate that the bliss cracked barely a week later, and Sara began to feel strangely ill.

It struck her at the kitchen table, when they were all gathered for lunch, and as she felt her stomach turn she rested her head in her hand for a moment, trying to steady herself.

Around her the others talked on, unaware.

"Put her down," Warrick scolded, addressing Nick who had tugged Sofia into his lap on the chair opposite. "Meal times are family time."

This had become one of their few house rules – along with a rotating roster for household chores – and Sofia laughed as she untangled herself and slipped into the chair next to him. It was then that Sara felt Grissom's hand on the back of her neck, his fingers in the ends of her hair.

"Sara?"

"You okay?" Catherine added.

Suddenly all eyes were locked on her, and Sara dropped her hand, making an effort to smile.

"I'm fine," she lied.

The chair next to her scraped against the floor as Grissom sat down beside her. His scientist's eyes began anxiously probing her, cataloguing symptoms.

"You look pale," he said. A hand touched her forehead. "You're warm."

"I feel a little under the weather," Sara admitted.

With a wave of the hand Grissom summoned up a volunteer to find her a glass of water, and it was soon placed in front of her.

"You've been working too hard," Warrick said, joining them at the table. "You've taken four trips to town in five days, and you're eating next to nothing. You're overdoing it."

"The man's got a point," Nick agreed. "You don't have to be a superhero here, why don't you take it easy for a while? Take a few days off."

"Rejuvenate," Catherine said, watching her. "No reason you have to strain yourself."

Sara did not reply. Her stomach turned; she felt ready to throw up.

"You look ill," Grissom pressed, his hand sinking to her back. "Have some water. Cool off."

But Sara's stomach turned again, and she shifted as she felt the bile inching upward.

"Sara?"

She threw her chair back. "I'm gonna be sick –"

She bolted for the downstairs toilet, and seconds later, it started.

XXX

Hours later, Sofia lingered awkwardly in the kitchen, searching carefully for words of comfort. Sara had vomited several times before they had carried her to bed with a bucket and a cold compress, and though both Grissom and Catherine had questioned her – asking her about everything from her temperature to her digestive habits – they were no more enlightened as to the cause. Sofia did not feel worried exactly – anxious was a better word – but as she saw Grissom lean weakly back against the bench, his eyes shifting with fear, she understood how he felt. Sick in the civilised world was one thing, but sick without any medical aid was quite another. She knew that first hand.

She searched for words of comfort.

"I'm sure she's fine. Either she's just picked up a passing bug, or she's exhausted herself. "

"We'll keep an eye on her," Catherine said, passing him a coffee she had made for him. "Don't worry."

She rubbed his arm, but Grissom didn't look even faintly reassured.

"This hasn't happened before. It's not normal for her to get sick like this."

"Come on, man," Nick said. "We all get sick. It doesn't mean it's anything to be worried about, she'll probably be fine in the morning."

"For all we know, it's something inane," Warrick agreed. "Could just be her time of month."

"Vomiting?" Sofia said, doubtful.

"Well it's not implausible," Nick said. "I mean, it's hardly my area of expertise, but I knew a girl who used to get sick like that. Fell sick every month. She was always fine a day or two later."

"I'm betting she was a lot younger than Sara," Catherine said.

Grissom placed his coffee aside, looking too distracted to drink it.

"It's not period pain. If it was just that, she'd tell me."

"Besides, it's not her time," Catherine added.

Nick stared. "How do women _know_ that?"

"Intuition," Sofia said, agreeing with her.

After three months of living with Sara, she could read her like a book – and for all intents and purposes Sara might as well have had it printed on her forehead. But Sofia kept her friend's secrets, and chose not to let on without reason.

"Either way, I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," Nick said. "She'll be fine in the morning, you just wait and see."

"Let's not panic without reason," Catherine said. "If I'd panicked every time Lindsey had vomited I'd be in a mental asylum by now."

Grissom looked across at her, and for the first time the tension in his face eased. He seemed to latch onto this thought.

"You're right," he said.

"Of course she is," Warrick said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Griss, she'll be fine."

But it was outside a short while later that another thought struck Sofia, and alone on the verandah with Catherine, watching the stars twinkle in the sky, she paused, her mind wrestling with the sums. All the days of the last few weeks seemed to run into each other, and they had long stopped keeping track of them, yet all the same …

"Sofia?"

Sofia turned to stare at her friend, the thought striking her as it solidified.

"Has she even _had_ it lately?"

Catherine stared. "Had what? You mean her period?"

Sofia did not answer, holding silent while Catherine's mind worked to catch up. And in the space of a few seconds, the expression on Catherine's face changed – morphing from contentment to puzzled thought, and then nervous horror.

"She _can't_ be," she said.

"I hope not," Sofia replied.

The thought was unthinkable, _terrifying_ … but staring at each other, each of them doing the mental arithmetic, Sofia had a horrible feeling that they had come to the same answer. Sofia suspected Sara had not had it since her own relationship with Nick had started, and though she had long lost track of time, she knew that was much more than a month ago. A whole season had passed since then.

"I think we may have a problem," she whispered.

Catherine took a moment, but then nodded.

"All right," she said, recovering with a deep breath. "You find a knife, and I'll castrate him."

"Gladly," Sofia replied.

* * *

_Can't believe how long this took to write, but the first few drafts were so dreadful that I couldn't even bear to think of posting them. I'm comparatively happy with this one. Full credit to the reviewer "AA" who somehow saw this coming in the previous chapters. I thought I'd hidden it quite well, but there you go! :)_

_Thanks to those who left feedback and apologies again for the delay - Anna. _


	16. Chapter 16

_Sincere thanks to those who so kindly left feedback on the last chapter - this next part is for you._

* * *

In the end, nothing more was said that evening. Though Sofia hurried back upstairs to talk to Sara, her plan was thwarted when she found their friend asleep, buried cosily under a pile of blankets. Sofia hovered for a moment, watching her breathe, but in the end had to concede defeat. It was evident she was down for the count, and that they would not see her again before morning.

"We'll grab her first thing," Catherine said, having paused beside her. "Take her for a walk."

Sofia nodded. "Somewhere quiet – where he can't hear her scream."

"Or where she can't _kill_ him," Catherine added.

They paused, possibilities looming, but Catherine seemed then to recover herself.

"Well we can't know yet," she said hopefully. "It may be a false alarm."

"Let's pray you're right."

Sofia could not think of anything they needed less than a baby – another gun battle or even the plague would have been preferable. Their problems were real enough without adding a child into the mix.

"We should leave her to rest," Catherine said.

Sofia nodded, and took the door handle. Morning seemed too far away.

XXX

In the hour before dawn, Sara lay awake, watching the moonlight play on the room. It was her favourite time of night, when there was just enough light to see, but when the world was silent and still. A bird was audible on some far horizon, but other than that, the only thing that moved was Grissom.

The white sheets reflected the moonlight as he shifted position, taking her lips again. The covers were down to his waist, his naked form visible, and she revelled in the feel of him as he embraced her. There was an almost classical beauty to Grissom these days – his muscles so well-toned thanks to their hours of daily exercise and absence of junk food that she had never enjoyed touching him more. His appetite for her had also increased, and now she reaped the benefits of his newfound good health.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," he said. "I was worried."

She kissed away his worry, her hand trailing down his back, tracing his muscles with her fingers. She stopped when she reached his behind – even that felt firmer now, everything about him was just so irresistibly desirable.

"I'm fine," she said softly. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

"You scared everyone," he admonished. "Warrick even started speculating whether you had your period."

_Typical_, Sara thought. If there was something wrong with a woman, the men immediately put it down to her time of month or unstable hormones. She threaded her hand through Grissom's hair as he kissed his way to her clavicle.

"You know perfectly well I don't."

"I know," he admitted, a smile evident in his voice. "I told him that."

"Good."

All thought was suspended as his lips reached her breast, kissing and teasing his way up to her nipple. Her eyes closed involuntarily as he took it in his mouth, her head arching slightly back into the pillow.

"_Oh –"_

She let out a slow breath, her hand clutching at his shoulder as his tongue flicked at her nipple.

"Something you like?" he teased.

Sara struggled to muster her wit.

"If you don't know by now, you never will."

His tongue left her, replaced by his hand, his thumb grazing the nipple as his lips moved ever downward. He kissed the underside of her breast, tracing the curve, and then proceeded down to her navel. His hands held her waist, fingers splayed possessively on her hip.

"Oh, I think I know," he said. "And I think I know something else you'd like even more."

He reached the waistband of her panties, his fingers simultaneously tracing their way up her inner thigh, his touch electrifying and tantalising on her skin. She craved it, and parted her legs in anticipation, but he stalled her with a hand on her thigh.

"In a minute," he teased. "There's something we need to take care of first."

He pressed one last kiss to her abdomen, and then moved, reaching for her underwear. Sara moved quickly to help him, and when he tugged them down her legs she kicked them off, sending them flying in a tailspin off the end of the bed.

He raised an eyebrow, admiring the shot. "In a hurry?"

She smiled. "You mean you're not?"

She let her eyes dip to his erection, visible in the moonlight. It was large and hard, and more than ready to take her at a whim, but he hesitated, his eyes drifting up and down her naked body. She was on full display for him now, and she saw from the lust in his eyes that he liked it. He always did.

"Something you like?" she teased.

He smiled, lowering himself toward her. "If you don't know by now, you never will."

Passion erupted, and soon Sara could not even keep track of his hands. They were all over her – on her breasts, backside and thighs – kneading and squeezing hungrily. He kissed her hard, her head thrown back into the pillow, and then readjusted his position to roll on top of her. She instinctively spread her legs, inviting him in, but then he paused, his hand darting out to yank open the top drawer of the bed-stand.

She heard a rustle as he dug, and then a hurried tear. She waited, catching her breath, while he rolled on the condom, but it was then, in that split second in which he got himself ready, that the contents of their previous conversation began to filter through into her brain. She frowned. _Warrick had said … what?_

He nudged at her entrance, gently entering, and Sara finally clicked.

She froze; panic seizing her, surging throughout her body.

_No,_ she thought. _No, no, no…_

"Stop," she gasped. "Stop right now."

XXX

"What's wrong?"

He withdrew quickly, looking worried, eyes searching her face to check if he had hurt her. But Sara ignored him, and scrambled to the edge of the bed, her feet dangling on the carpet. Her chest heaved as she struggled to get air which had vacated the room.

"_Sara –"_

He sounded scared, lost even, and the mattress dipped as he hurried toward her. He put a protective arm around her waist, sitting there naked with her, but Sara barely felt his touch.

"I can't breathe," she said, gasping for air. "I can't –"

"Stay calm," he said quickly. "Whatever it is, it's okay. Take a deep breath."

Sara tried, but there didn't seem to be any air available.

"I can't, I –"

"You're having a panic attack. Just stay calm, take a deep breath. I'm right here."

His voice was firm now, firm like a medic. She tried to obey it, tried to trust him, but the tightness in her chest, in her lungs, remained.

_Shit,_ she thought. _Shit, shit, shit …_

"Gil, I –"

Her head spun, faint and dizzy, and as if reading this Grissom added, "If you feel faint, put your head down between your knees. Take slow deep breaths."

He guided her down with a hand, and Sara rested her head on her knees, closing her eyes. She did not know what was happening; all her thoughts were tangled like a ball of wool that had been attacked by a kitten.

"Are you taking deep breaths?"

Sara tried to take one; his arm was firm around her waist, holding her.

"Keep taking them, don't hyperventilate."

She kept her eyes closed, obeying him.

"That's better. Just stay calm, you're perfectly safe here with me."

Sara tried to rest, and passed several moments just sitting there, being held by him. They were both still naked, and his arm around her back was pleasant and comforting, his loving presence soothing.

After a few moments passed she took another deep breath, and lifted her head a little.

"Feel better?" he queried.

Sara nodded – she did a little. She tried to think straight. She was in trouble, but for once, he could not help her. Grissom knew nothing about periods and pregnancy – his experience with her cycle thus far extended only to gentlemanly acceptance when she turned down sex – and she couldn't scare him unless she was sure. She would be a fool to make a scene without first getting the evidence. There was only one person who knew anything about it, who could give her advice, and that was –

"Catherine," she said, taking another deep breath. "I need to speak to Catherine."

If he was surprised he didn't show it – perhaps he already had it in mind to summon her in her capacity as team nurse. Either way, she was grateful that he did not question her.

"All right," he said. "I'm going to cross the hall and get her, you just stay right here. Take deep breaths and stay calm."

She nodded. He quickly removed the condom he still wore, dropping it onto the matching wrapper on the bedside table, and then picked up his underwear from the carpet.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll be right back."

XXX

She heard him cross the hall, the silent wooden house echoing and amplifying every noise. The door creaked as he entered Catherine and Sofia's bedroom, and then there were quiet footsteps as he crossed to Catherine's bed. There were murmurs as they spoke, but then more footsteps as they returned.

"She had a panic attack," he said, quietly explaining the situation out in the hall. "I think it was a flashback to her assault – she clammed up, said she couldn't breathe. She was terrified."

"She explain why?"

"No – but her actions spoke volumes. And she wants to speak with you."

"All right – let's go."

Footsteps approached, and Sara realised too late that she was still naked. She glanced around for a shirt, but there was none within reach, and when they entered the room she was still bare.

Grissom didn't hesitate – passing her a look of pity he picked up a blanket from the end of the bed – one they had kicked down earlier in their passion – and folded it, moving to wrap it around her.

"Stay warm," he said. "You're still trembling."

He sat back down with her, holding her again, but Sara's attention was on Catherine. She was dressed in her lingerie, coupled with a large men's shirt which hung open and loose, but she looked every part the CSI as her gaze took in the condom on the dresser and underwear on the floor, and she gave the slightest nod to herself before she crouched down in front of Sara, blue eyes honing in on her.

"You okay?" she asked.

Sara tried to nod, at the same time trying to hold down a rising sense of writhing embarrassment.

"I'm okay," she replied. "I think I just freaked out – I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," Grissom said, still holding her. "You did nothing wrong. It's okay."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about," Catherine said, reaching for her wrist. Her fingers clamped in, checking her pulse. "How's your breathing? You feel any tightness in your chest?"

"Some," Sara said, taking another deep breath to stifle it. "It's loosening up."

"You should rest a few minutes," Grissom said. "Just take it easy."

Sara nodded, but it was easier said than done. She looked down into Catherine's eyes, and knew she had to tell her, but had no idea how to begin.

Thankfully, at that moment, Catherine took control.

"Look, why don't you give us a minute," Catherine said to him. "I need to talk with her alone."

"Of course." He gave Sara's back one last rub and stood. "I'll be downstairs if you need me."

He threw her a wink and departed, closing the door behind him. Catherine took up his position on the bed, her arm slipping around Sara's shoulders.

"You don't have to say anything," she said. "Take a few minutes if you need them."

"I'm okay," Sara replied. "Like I said, I think I just freaked out – embarrassing but not fatal."

She tried to smile, wanting to make light of it, but Catherine was not fooled.

"You want to walk me through what happened?" She nodded to the discarded condom. "I know you were having sex."

"We were just … getting down to it, when –"

"When it happened," Catherine provided. She rubbed her back. "What triggered it?"

"I just thought of something," Sara admitted. "And then I couldn't go on."

She sighed, fingers on her temple. It seemed so stupid now, the worst possible timing. She hated to think what Grissom thought of it all, thought of _her_, but at least he had been understanding. She was grateful for that much.

"What did you think of?" Catherine prompted. "Was it the assault? Or something else?"

"It wasn't the assault," Sara said honestly. "Grissom just assumed it was because of the timing. I was actually thinking of something else that he said earlier, about why I was sick yesterday."

She let the thought hang, her next words hitching in the back of her throat. She was not sure, now that the moment had come, if she had the nerve to face it. She wondered if it was at all possible that she was being paranoid, that she had made a big scene for no reason.

Catherine was silent, but when Sara looked sideways to her she saw she was watching her carefully. Her expression was indecipherable.

"Is there something you need to tell me?" she asked quietly.

Sara took a deep breath; her hands shook, but she plunged in.

"Catherine … when did you realise you were pregnant with Lindsey?"

* * *

_A short chapter, but I enjoyed this one. I love it when Grissom is so sweet and understanding. I'm actually starting to comprehend how long I think this story is going to be, and it's a little scary. There's so much to cover and I wish I had more time to write it all. I'd love to hear what people think - please leave your thoughts._

_Merry Christmas to everyone, and especially to those who've been so kind to me. I really appreciate it and wish you all the best for 2013. Hope to see you still reading well into the new year! ;)_


	17. Chapter 17

In the living room downstairs, Sofia sat down beside Grissom, placing a coffee in front of him. The candle on the coffee table had been lit, and it cast a dim flicker over her friend's face, but it did little to penetrate the darkness of the room. The nights had become cold lately, frigid and moonless, and the hint of impending winter had sent them all searching for more blankets. Sofia had raided the linen cupboard just hours earlier, and climbed snug into bed with an extra blanket only to be woken later by the commotion outside her door. She had forced herself out of bed to find Grissom lingering there in the hallway, looking worried and listless, and upon hearing his story she had promptly escorted him downstairs.

He sat next to her now in nothing but his boxer shorts, the cotton faded and speckled with lint, not even seeming to feel the wintry chill which had rippled goose-bumps up and down his arms. The smattering of curly grey hair on his chest and legs glowed in the candlelight, but it was his eyes which stood out to her the most – his expression so helpless, tormented by a problem he felt powerless to overcome. It was this sight which tugged at Sofia's heartstrings, and firmed her resolve to wait with him.

On the armchair opposite, Warrick, too, looked concerned. He had been woken from sleep like Sofia, and now sat tiredly rubbing his eyes as he struggled to digest the problem.

"A panic attack?" he repeated, once they had told him. "Are you sure?"

He looked up at Grissom with one raised eyebrow, evidently having doubts. Sara was not one to collapse into a teary heap like some.

"I'm positive," Grissom replied. "She couldn't breathe and she was practically shaking with fear. I think it was an intrusive flashback to her assault."

He pressed his eyes into Warrick for a second, gravely emphasising the severity of what they were facing, and Warrick fell silent. He sighed, clasped his hands between his knees, but seemed unable to find comforting words. He shared a look instead with Sofia, but Sofia was also reluctant to speak, her mind plagued with doubts. On the one hand she knew it was plausible that Sara's anxiety was related to her assault – she had struggled in the aftermath of their trip to the city, and the weeks she had spent curled up like a recluse in the armchair afterward had been just one symptom of that – and yet simultaneously she felt keenly suspicious of the timing. Her mind flew back to Sara's vomiting, to the conversation they had almost held with her, and she wondered if it really could be coincidence. Nevertheless she knew she had no choice but to play along – she had to keep an open mind until Catherine could tell her for sure.

"You're … suggesting PTSD?" she clarified. "That she has some degree of trauma."

"It's possible," Grissom said, shrugging a little.

He spoke with realistic ease, as if he had long come to terms with it, or even expected it, and Sofia too, was not surprised. She had seen it coming, and not just in Sara, but in all of them. They all had their battle scars, and did their best to cope with them.

"We'll be lucky if any of us escape that," Warrick said. "It was tough enough just being stuck here, having to adjust to a new life, let alone everything that happened to her in town. Sara's tough as nails, but that'd rattle anyone. Finding your own grave, then the assault …"

"I know," Grissom said. "I just hope Catherine can help."

Sofia reached across, briefly touching his arm, even though she knew it would do little to help. She had known for a long time that Grissom's one weak point was Sara. Even when she had first joined his team as a CSI she had sensed something between them, and when the news broke of their relationship two years later, she had not been surprised. She had not minded, either. It was impossible not to feel sympathy for what Sara had endured at the hands of the miniature killer, and like everyone else in PD, she had found that what would have otherwise been a juicy piece of gossip had been blunted by their desperate search and the state they had found her in. You could not kick someone when they were down, and when she had seen Grissom's teary eyes in the hospital waiting room, she had vowed then to do what she could to protect them from the fallout.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," she soothed. "And even if she's not, we'll help. She's not alone."

She had not forgotten Sara's kindness to her when she had first suffered her head injury, and had long awaited a chance to repay the favour.

"Maybe she just needs a little support for a while," Warrick said. "You know I've read a little about PTSD in my time, when working other cases, and the literature says to let the person vent, to loan them support. Maybe if we let her talk, it might help."

Grissom seemed to deflate a little. "We talked it out a few months ago, and she assured me then that she was fine."

Sofia hesitated, feeling vaguely that she was about to pop a child's balloon, but she had to be honest.

"Well … maybe she wasn't."

She could still picture the vulnerability in Sara's eyes when she had met her afterward on the verandah. The way she had clung to Catherine had told Sofia more than she could have ever learned in an entire day of talking.

"You know what Sara's like," Warrick said, "she's a tough one – she probably sees mental illness as a sign of weakness."

"That won't help her," Sofia interjected. "If we were at home, it wouldn't matter. But out here …"

She let the thought trail, not having to state the obvious. Warrick gave a hint of a grim nod.

"Out here we're isolated," he agreed. "If we don't help her, no one will. And then she'll get worse."

A pause settled, each of them imagining the implications. It was not a pleasant thought, and Sofia wrenched her mind away before it could venture too far.

"Then … maybe we just need to be extra kind to her for a while," she said. "Do everything we can to support her."

"I agree."

Sofia looked sideways to Grissom, inviting his input, but he did not respond. His shoulders had slumped a little, his eyes staring vaguely down into his coffee. Sofia wondered if he would even be able to deal with it.

She slipped her hand back into his, squeezing.

"She'll be fine, Griss," Warrick assured. "Cath's up there with her now, and there's no one better at this kind of thing. We just need to be patient."

"I trust Catherine completely," he said, raising his eyes to gaze helplessly at him. "I just … wish I could help."

XXX

In the bedroom Sara waited, all her nerves on tenterhooks, as Catherine seemed to take an inordinately long time to respond. She could not believe that Catherine could be this silent, or choose now to do it, and she could barely control her anxiety as she risked a glance sideways. She saw Catherine staring back at her, face pale in the darkness, her mouth open slightly, and evidently caught off guard.

"I … I really need your help," Sara pressed, trying to hold her blanket closed with a steady hand. It was a thick blanket, the heavy one they had dug out of the closet a week or so ago, but its scratchy woollen fibres were uncomfortable against her skin. Her fingers shook as she gripped the edge, her forehead and chest prickling with tight beads of sweat – some from sex, but most from fear.

_Pregnant_, she thought, staring vacantly at the sturdy dresser a foot away. _She was actually pregnant. And not just pregnant, but pregnant here …_

The realisations flooded in, each one more paralysing than the last. She was pregnant … pregnant with no medical aid … pregnant to a partner who did not want children … pregnant in a world which was nothing but hostile … bearing a child who would never know the civilised world, who would have no friends …

_Damn._

Her blanket sagged, her brain too stunned to focus on holding it, and it drooped to reveal her cleavage. Catherine did not seem to notice.

"Don't panic," she said, calm as ever. "Take a deep breath, watch your breathing. I'm here, okay?"

Her voice was maternal, the soothing tone she used whenever someone had hurt themselves, and Sara faintly realised that Catherine thought she was having another panic attack. Maybe she was, she thought. But she did not care. She shook her head, staring ahead at a knot on the dresser, words utterly failing her.

She had a vision of giving birth in the paddock outside, blood staining the grass, dying with pain as Grissom shunned her, his back turned.

"It's going to be fine," Catherine said.

_It's not_, Sara thought.

She tried to shake off the vision, but it resisted. She struggled with it as Catherine's hands continued to move, roving up and down her back in measured, calming strokes, her touch firm yet gentle. She heard her friend offer more soothing words, but it was not until she reached in and adjusted Sara's sagging blanket that her shock began to ease. Catherine's touch was so caring, so mother-like and tender, that the gesture finally brought her back.

"It's okay," Catherine repeated.

This time Sara nodded, and she absorbed another moment of comfort before she felt the urge to explain.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted.

"I know," Catherine replied.

Her voice was soft, relaxed, and yet with the admission Sara felt some of the weight leave her shoulders. Her rational brain clawed its way back, her fingers moving to re-hold the edges of her blanket, taking them from Catherine.

"Can you breathe comfortably?" Catherine asked.

Sara tried to take another deep breath, remembering that Grissom had urged her to do so.

"I think so," she replied.

"Take a minute," Catherine said, unconvinced. "Just relax. We'll talk when you're ready."

She passed several more moments being comforted, her head bowed and eyes closed, trying to block out all thought as she focused entirely on her breathing. Catherine coached her through it, urging her to keep the breaths slow and even, until a moment later when Sara felt better, and lifted her head again.

"You good?" Catherine asked.

"Yeah," Sara said, nodding.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine," Sara assured.

She felt slight stirrings of shame, but Catherine's kindness prevented them from growing any further. She simply continued to rub Sara's back, and when she was sure that Sara could handle it, finally spoke.

"All right, first thing – _don't_ panic. There's no point having a breakdown until you know for sure, and we're not there yet. Don't step ahead of the evidence."

"I've missed a period," Sara said, her rational mind returning as she crunched the facts. "And I was vomiting yesterday. The signs are that –"

"How long's it been since you had your period?" Catherine interrupted.

Sara's mind stalled, struggling to remember. They did not keep track of time – she did not even know what month it was, or even the year, and she had no idea how many weeks had passed. It just seemed a long time, and more than it should be.

"I'm not sure," she conceded.

"Well let's assume it has been more than a month," Catherine said reasonably. "Even then there are other possible causes. Missed periods don't necessarily indicate pregnancy. It could be stress – the pressure of what you've been through– or even your diet. Like Warrick said yesterday, you're overdoing it. That much is obvious to the rest of us. You're hiking all the way to town several times a week, barely eating; you're burning far more calories than you're ingesting and you've clearly lost weight. It's not sustainable. It may just be that we need to tweak your diet a little. So don't panic until we have all the facts. Nothing's for sure."

It was perfectly logical, and Sara felt some of her anxiety flicker, now uncertain. Yes, she had lost weight. Nick had made a passing comment just the other day that he could feel her bones under his hands when he hugged her. But Sara had put the weight loss down to her newfound physical fitness, and as all her friends had gone through the same transition, she had thought little of it. But it was true that she was not eating as much as they were, and while the others loaded their plates Sara often had no appetite, and had to be prodded into eating by Grissom.

"You're probably right," she said.

She did not feel certain, but it was possible.

"There's only way to know for sure," Catherine said gently, still holding her.

"A test," Sara said, raising her eyes to meet her friend's.

Catherine nodded. "I'll go into town. Get you one from the pharmacy."

Sara said nothing; it was all too overwhelming.

"I'll take Nick and Warrick," Catherine went on. "You stay here with Sofia. Try to take it easy. If you get sick again, or if you feel start to feel anxious, go to her. I'll tell her what's happened."

Sara's mind was crammed with thoughts, not least of which that she would have to hide it from Grissom all day long, but she knew there was nothing she could do about that. She voiced instead her next thought, regarding Catherine's intended trip.

"If you ask the guys to take a special trip to town, they're going to want to know why."

"Then I'll have to tell them," Catherine said, shrugging apologetically. "I don't know there's a choice. You know the rule."

Sara did know the rule – that rule they had all made months ago that no trip to town would be made without a minimum of three people. It had been made for safety reasons, lest they should encounter anyone else en route, or if someone got hurt along the way, but the result was that none of them had much privacy. She nevertheless had to value their safety above anything else, and nodded to indicate her agreement.

"So long as you don't tell Grissom," she said. "If it comes to that, I'd prefer to tell him myself."

"Deal," Catherine said. "I'll make sure the guys keep their mouths shut."

Sara had no doubt they would – Warrick would do anything for Catherine, and Nick was loyal to Sara. She did not even care what they thought; the only reaction she had any room to think about was Grissom's.

She could only hope the test would not come back positive.

"Are you going to be okay?" Catherine asked.

Sara nodded, knowing that Catherine wanted confirmation, but she did not feel it.

"I'll be fine."

"Just hang on until I get back," Catherine said. "No matter what happens, I'll help you handle it. You're not alone, okay?"

Sara tried to nod, but a few tears came out instead. The hot droplets rolled down her cheeks.

She hated to admit it, but she felt an emotional wreck.

"You'll be fine," Catherine repeated.

And she drew Sara into a hug.

XXX

Downstairs, Grissom sat staring into his coffee. He had not drunk any of it; though the gesture from Sofia had been kind he had not yet mustered the strength to lift the mug. He stared ahead into its dark depths, watching the candlelight play on the surface, thinking only of Sara. She had been upstairs with Catherine for a while now, and the longer it dragged on the more worried he became for her state, but there was nothing more he could do. Nothing but wait.

The conversation had long ebbed into silence, only the odd word of comfort being offered by Warrick or Sofia as they waited it out with him. He felt grateful for their presence, but at the same time had never found it less fulfilling. There was only one person whose company he wanted now, and that person was ill upstairs.

He tried to contemplate it, what they would do if Sara did not recover, but the thought was painful. The truth was he had no idea what more he could say to help her, to carry her through the trauma, and the more he thought about it, the more depressed he became. He felt like he was caught in an eddy, carrying him further downward, unable to save her from the dangers of long term psychological damage.

He was still worrying about it when he heard a door click open upstairs, and footsteps emerge onto the landing. Catherine's gentle voice floated down to him.

"Just take it easy. You don't have to say anything."

Sara said nothing, but he heard an audible sniff, and his heart broke when he turned to see her emerge at the top of the stairs. She was dressed now, but she looked a wreck. Her face was tear-stained, her eyes vulnerable, and Catherine led her down the stairs with a protective arm around her shoulders.

Grissom hurriedly got to his feet, moving to meet both women at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes lingered on Sara, trying to catch her eye, but it was Catherine who spoke first.

"She doesn't want to talk about it," she said pointedly, throwing him a look doused in hints. "She just needs to take it easy for a while."

"All right," he agreed.

He tried again to catch her eye, becoming more worried by the second at her vulnerability, but Sara's attention flicked instead over to Sofia and Warrick hovering nearby. Catherine quickly peeled off to head them off, and with a tug on Sofia's sleeve and a look to Warrick, she drew them both toward the back door. They disappeared out onto the back verandah, leaving Grissom alone with Sara.

Suddenly the house was silent.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

He took her shoulder, trying to tempt her to look at him, and with a breath of courage she finally relented. She lifted her eyes to his, and as if wanting to disguise her crying, hastily swiped at a tear.

"I'm okay," she said, though her voice trembled slightly. "It was just …"

But she drifted off, unable to find adequate words.

"It's all right," he said, his hand trailing down her arm to clutch her hand. "Anxiety attacks are more common than you'd think. There's nothing to be ashamed of. So long as you're all right."

Her fingers curled into his, but there was a hesitancy which told him she was still troubled. After a moment she came clean.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said, heaving a sigh. "I know we usually tell each other everything, it's just that this time it feels –"

"Overwhelming," he said. "I know."

He did not say what he was thinking, that he understood perfectly why Sara would feel more comfortable in talking to Catherine. He had seen enough of life to know that there were some things better shared with a member of the same sex, and things such as Sara's assault were one of them. He knew that while he could hold her, love her and comfort her, Catherine could offer her a depth of understanding and empathy which his gender prevented him from ever reaching. And after Catherine's experience as a stripper, and wild younger years on the strip, he knew she was ideal one to talk to her. He had known that all along.

"It's okay," he said. "You don't have to apologise, I understand. I'm just relieved you're talking to _someone_."

She seemed to take a second to digest this statement, but still fell short of looking reassured. There was something shaky in her eyes, something still so slightly anxious.

He racked his mind for a way to help her.

"Can she help you?" he asked.

Sara nodded. "I think so."

"Then that's all that counts. At the end of the day what matters is that you're okay. And whatever you need from me is fine."

She peered up at him, and at last her fingers tightened around his. More tears welled in her eyes, threatening to slip, and she stepped forward into his arms. He held her firm against him, her hair tickling his bare shoulder, and he kissed her cheek.

"You'll be fine, don't worry."

And though Sara did not respond, she continued to hold onto him, and he had to consider that, at least, as a good sign.

XXX

On the back verandah, Sofia barely held it together until the door closed, when she turned to her friends, in shock.

"Is that what I think it was?" she asked Catherine.

Sara had looked so distraught that any doubts she had had over the cause had been swiftly obliterated by the sight of her at the top of the stairs. She had never Sara so upset, and it only left her to draw one conclusion.

"Yeah," Catherine said quickly.

She threw an anxious look through the window, making sure they both were still distracted, before addressing Warrick.

"I need to make a trip to town," she said. "You up for it?"

"Up for what?" he asked, looking from one to the other. "What's going on?"

He looked completely at sea, and Sofia was not surprised, but they had no time.

"I'll explain later but right now I need your help," Catherine said urgently. "We only have a second. Can you come?"

"Well sure, but –"

"Then go get dressed and wake Nick. He'll have to come. Tell him I'll explain on the way, but right now I just need him to get ready and keep his mouth shut. We'll tell Grissom we're going for food."

"Food?" he queried. His eyes narrowed, deeply scared. "Cath, what's wrong? I thought it was just a panic attack."

"It's more serious than that," Catherine said darkly.

He studied her eyes a moment, alarmed, but Sofia threw an anxious glance over her shoulder. They had so little time before Grissom realised they had snuck away.

"You need to go," she said to Warrick.

He looked like he wanted to interrogate her, but short of time, he nodded, electing to trust her.

"I'll explain on the way," Catherine promised, clutching his arm.

"All right," he said.

He reluctantly left, and Catherine turned to Sofia.

"Is she all right?" Sofia asked quickly.

She hated to think how her friend had taken it, though she thought she knew the answer.

"No," Catherine replied. "She freaked out, couldn't breathe. I had to work hard to calm her down. She's terrified."

"Understandable," Sofia put in.

She could only imagine how it felt, the sheer terror.

"I'm going to get her a test, but we won't be back 'til tonight," Catherine went on. "I need you to take care of her until then. Keep her grounded, keep Grissom ignorant, and keep her calm. Can you do that?"

"I'll look after her," Sofia promised. "Don't worry."

"Thanks."

Catherine pecked her on the cheek, and a moment later returned inside. She headed straight for the stairs to go get dressed, jogging all the way up, while Sofia paused in the living room. Grissom had moved Sara onto the couch, the spare blanket now draped around her shoulders, his hand warmly clutching hers. Her face was still tear-stained, but she looked much calmer, and Sofia was just about to leave them to it just as Sara caught her eye, and a thousand questions burned from her irises.

Sofia made her way over to the coffee table, and sat down facing her.

"It's okay," she assured, a hand on her knee. "It's fine."

With Grissom sitting right there she could say none of what she wanted, and had to settle for Sara reading it in her body language. She rubbed her knee, and when the others emerged a minute later for breakfast, she rose to give her a hug, and pecked her on the cheek. Minutes later in the kitchen both Nick and Warrick gave her hugs – unsure what the problem was yet dousing her in affection just in case – and then when their bowls were clean and Catherine idly announced they were making a trip to town, the statement was so routine, and Grissom was still so absorbed in Sara, that he failed to notice the body language flying around the room.

Minutes later the three travellers left, and Sofia went to sit by Sara, and keep her sane.

XXX

Catherine sensed her companions' curiosity bubbling away long before they even left the driveway, and if anything was impressed that they even held on until they reached the road. When they turned left to head for town Warrick glanced carefully over his shoulder, then when he was sure they were out of earshot, let loose.

"All right, time's up," he said worriedly. "What the hell's going on?"

"Spill, Cath," Nick ordered. "Don't scare us like this."

He sounded petrified, but Catherine felt only the slightest speck of guilt before she answered. She knew that if they had seen Sara in the bedroom, a huddled teary mess, then they would understand. She still had trouble getting her own head around it, and she had so many mixed feelings that she barely knew where to start. Grissom's stupidity in getting her pregnant ranked high on her list, but her dominant emotion was fear – fear for Sara, fear for the idea of her giving birth out here. Her own labour with Lindsey had been agonising enough, and Sara would have no help like she had had.

"_Cath_," Warrick said pointedly, drawing her out of her reverie.

His fingers clutched her arm, and Catherine looked at the quiet road ahead, the miles still to go, and knew there was no point delaying any further.

"She's pregnant," she said.

They stared, agog. Catherine's footsteps crunched on the road.

"Pregnant," Warrick repeated. "You serious?"

"Serious enough," Catherine replied. "She's missed at least one period, she has no idea how long it's been. And then her sickness yesterday …"

"Morning sickness," Nick realised, catching on. "Oh, I don't _believe_ this. And Grissom did this?"

"Who else are you suggesting? The bogeyman?"

"But are you _sure_?" Warrick asked. "Does she know for certain?"

"That's what we're doing now," Catherine answered. "We need to go to the drug store and get her a pregnancy test. It could be just stress, a change in metabolism or weight loss –"

"But you don't think it is," Warrick finished. "You look sure."

Catherine shrugged vaguely – she had no idea what to think. In the bedroom she had told Sara that it may be a false alarm largely just to calm her. Sara had been so rattled that she had been forced to inject some logic into the proceedings, and do whatever it took plant her feet back on the ground. But in her head she felt otherwise. Sara's vomiting yesterday had been strongly reminiscent of Catherine's own so many years ago, and though time had passed she remembered clearly how it looked – and felt.

"I think she is," Catherine confessed. "And I think she knows it too."

Nick swore.

"Tell me we didn't leave her back there without someone knowing," Warrick said worriedly. "You did tell Sofia?"

"She knows," Catherine confirmed.

"Well that's something."

But Catherine sensed Nick bristling beside her, and when she looked up she saw his jaw set, his hard eyes focused out on the desert, struggling to conquer his frustration.

"Nick?" Warrick prompted.

Nick spared him the briefest glance.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"You look like you're planning a murder."

"Yeah, well, maybe I am," he said irritably. He paused for another second before letting loose. "I mean do you realise the fix he's put her in here? Getting her knocked up, trapped out here, and there's no antenatal clinic just around the corner …"

"I'm well aware of the risks," Catherine said flatly, knowing full well what he was getting at. "Why do you think she's so terrified?"

"She needs our support, man," Warrick said. "What's done now is done."

"Don't tell me you two are condoning this," Nick said. "I mean, Cath, you've given birth, you know what we're talking about here. It's not just the pregnancy, but the labour, pushing it out – that's putting her life on the line right there. None of us are trained midwives, we don't have a clue what to do. One problem, one tear, and if she starts bleeding it's goodnight."

Catherine struggled to keep her calm; he wasn't helping.

"It's done, Nick," Warrick reiterated.

"And that's not all, either," Nick went on. "I mean what about him humping her all over the place for the last six months, using her like a sex toy, and then having the nerve to interfere in our relationships. That doesn't strike you as hypocritical? He doesn't mind sticking his nose in between everyone else's bed sheets, but pays no attention to what's going on between his own."

"Not that it's any of our business, but they were being careful," Catherine interjected angrily. "It wasn't deliberate."

"Yeah, well, not careful enough."

He bristled for a moment longer before Warrick spoke.

"There's nothing we can do about it now," he said. "If she is pregnant, it's a bit late to be having the talk on safe sex. We'll just have to deal with it as it comes, handle it the best way we can."

"I'm just saying … that as harsh as this sounds, the kindest thing we can do for her now is to get her an abortion drug," Nick said. "Let's not put her through all this agony and torment if we don't have to."

"It's not our call," Warrick said.

"It's not risk-free, either," Catherine added, worried at the thought. "If she miscarries and it's incomplete, or if she gets infected, it could kill her just as easily as a hard labour. The only difference is it'll be slower. You'll get to watch."

This silenced him, and so completely that after a second she realised she had gone too far. She took pity on him, and touched his arm to soothe him.

"We'll just do the best we can," she said. "Be there for Sara, and keep up a brave face. She doesn't need to know you're scared."

"Let's keep that to ourselves," Warrick agreed. "And keep faith – it may be negative."

"Let's just hope it is," Nick said.

XXX

Sara's day passed at a surprising dawdle – a stark contrast to the chaotic hour she had endured after she had first woken. She had been a nervous wreck at first, but Grissom and Sofia had both been so kind that her fears did not torment her for long. They soon succeeded in doing the impossible in distracting her, and sheltered by their compassion, what she had feared would be an unendurable day of secrets turned out to be quite pleasant.

They shared a few games of Scrabble, a walk down to the far fence line, and in the afternoon Sara allowed herself to rest on the couch, and closed her eyes a while. Grissom tucked her in with a cosy blanket and soft pillow, and that was the position she woke in hours later, when a clatter of noise issued from the kitchen.

She turned her head on the pillow, so blissfully comfortable that she could barely open her eyes.

"How long's she been asleep?" came Catherine's quiet voice.

"Most of the afternoon," Sofia replied, voice also low. "She's been down for the count."

"And Grissom?"

"Holed up in the toilet with a crossword."

"That figures."

Sara listened to them unpack for a while, all of them trying to be quiet so as not to wake her, and then eventually some footsteps approached, stopping as they reached the carpet. Sara forced herself to crank open an eyelid, and saw Catherine peering back at her, looking concerned yet perfectly refreshed.

She perched on the edge of the coffee table.

"Hey – how do you feel?"

Sara blinked, trying to force herself awake; the couch was so comfortable it was like hauling herself out of a coma.

"Tired," she conceded.

She wondered if fatigue was a symptom of pregnancy, or if it was merely her episode that morning which had taken it out of her. Either was possible. She forced herself to move, swinging her legs to the floor as she grimaced at the awakening.

It was then that she froze; her eyes landing on a package beside Catherine's thigh. It was a small brown paper bag, and exactly the right size for a pregnancy test.

Instantly she felt wide awake.

"That's –"

"Yeah," Catherine confirmed quietly.

She threw a discrete look to the side passage, down which Sara suspected Grissom had retreated with his much loved puzzle book.

"You ready now, or would you prefer later?"

Sara stared at the bag, but it took only a moment for her to decide. She caught a glimpse of Nick and Warrick watching her from the kitchen, and did not feel like facing them yet. There was too much pressure there, too many unwanted questions.

"Now," she said, nodding.

"Then let's go."

Catherine took her hand, and escorted her upstairs. Moments later Sara found herself shut in the pale green bathroom – old fashioned yet cosy – and Catherine unwrapped the package on the sink.

Sara took a deep breath, mustering her bravado.

"Do you know what to do?" Catherine asked, holding out the stick.

"Yeah," Sara said, trying to smile. "Whiz on it, right?"

Catherine's lips turned up briefly.

"Just stay calm, aim straight, and don't panic."

She held out the stick between her thumb and forefinger, and Sara took it. It was almost hard to believe that such a small strip of plastic was going to determine her fate, but as soon as the thought occurred she tried to block it out. She wanted to do it before she could think about it; she did not want to end up in another pitiful mess on the floor.

"I'll wait outside," Catherine said.

It was easier than she had thought, the test similar to the drugs test she had done when she had first joined the lab. She did the job, flushed, and then set it back on the sink to develop. Catherine re-joined her, and her first task was to break Sara away from staring at it.

"A watched pot never boils," she said, taking Sara's elbow to lead her over to the fluffy bath mat. "Let's sit down – it'll take a few minutes."

Sara leaned back against the bath, the rim cold against her back, and tried not to think about it. It was strange that she felt so relaxed, strange when she had been so wound up that morning. It was almost as if her emotional reserves were now so depleted that she had no energy left to break down again. Catherine nevertheless took her hand, holding it against her knee, and the gesture was comforting.

Sara's thoughts wandered – wondering how Nick and Warrick had taken it, how Grissom _would_ take it, and then lingering on this thought for a while, her mind drifting to their old lives in Vegas. It felt so long ago now, an age past.

"You know when Grissom and I got engaged, we agreed we didn't want kids," she began. "It just always seemed like something that didn't suit us, something that we never planned. I never thought in a million years that this would happen, that I'd be here now, doing this …"

"Life has a way of being unpredictable," Catherine said, sharing a knowing look. "But sometimes that's part of the fun, part of the charm. I never expected to have Lindsey – she wasn't planned. But then it happened, and as freaked out as I was at the time, I've never regretted it. She's brought a lot of joy to my life. And sometimes the best things are the ones you don't plan. Like this, for instance. None of us ever expected to end up here. But it hasn't been so bad."

"Not so bad?" Sara queried, amused. "It was _hell_ at first."

"At first," Catherine emphasised. "But it hasn't been bad since, considering. We've had six months of peace and quiet, happiness and friendship. There's something to be said for that."

Sara knew what she meant, and smiled. Not all the memories were bad, and in fact for the last few months, they had been distinctly enjoyable. She had almost felt bad for feeling it, knowing how Brass and Greg must feel back in Las Vegas. Nevertheless she tried to stay positive.

"It's definitely a stark contrast to Vegas. No drugs, no puke, no double shifts –"

"No alarm clocks," Catherine added, with a tone that indicated she did not miss them. "No meetings, no court cases, no stress … no Ecklie …"

Sara smiled again. "That's definitely a perk."

"… and we more or less do what we want. I don't know, I like the freedom, the absence of constraints. You don't realise how tied down you are until something like this happens."

Sara looked at her leaning back against the bath, perfectly relaxed, and something suddenly occurred to her which she had not thought of before.

"You're really happy here," she observed.

Catherine shrugged. "Is that so bad?"

"You don't miss Lindsey?"

"Every day," she conceded. "She's my blood. But I know Nick misses his parents, Sofia her mother, Grissom _his_ mom … and we can't bury ourselves in the past. At least we have company here. And the truth is, sooner or later we have to move on, accept it, and keep going. I still love Lindsey, but for that same reason I'm going to do the best I can, be as happy as I can, and I hope she's doing the same – moving on. I've made up mind to enjoy what we have here, and to embrace the positives."

"The bright side," Sara said, her mind going back to a similar conversation with Grissom. "So you subscribe to the Grissom school of thought? That the glass is half full?"

"It's better than it being half empty."

She had a point, and Sara mulled it over as she relaxed against the bath tub.

"And the positives for you?"

"Love," Catherine said, with frank honesty. "Lust, sex, friendship. Waking every day to peace and quiet instead of death and sirens, having a pardon from the rat race. It's not what any of us planned, but it works all right for me."

"And if we're stuck here long term?" Sara queried. "Forever?"

"All the more reason to move on," Catherine replied. "Keep building our lives. We can't stay stagnant forever."

Her blue eyes lingered on her, and Sara understood suddenly what she was getting at, and wondered if the conversation was deliberate. She could not hold herself back on fear and worry, pining for the past, for what might have been. For right or wrong, they were here now, and a blissful future still awaited her if she had the courage to take it. She had friends – _brilliant_ friends – a loving partner, and a happy home.

There was really nothing to fear, nothing at all.

"You know I love you, Cat," Sara said honestly.

Catherine raised an eyebrow a fraction, surprised at the admission, but she didn't miss a beat.

"I love you too," she said smoothly.

It was a statement she would never have expected to hear from Catherine, but it was deeply appreciated, and even more so because Sara knew she meant it. Sara squeezed her hand, and found that she now had the courage to address the result waiting for her on the bench.

"Don't worry," Catherine said. "We're all with you."

Sara reached for the test, holding it between her fingers, and stared at the result.

It was positive.

* * *

_I have drafted and redrafted this so many times that I've driven myself half crazy trying to make it work. I seriously hope it's okay. It was a very long chapter, but I'm keen to move the story forward. Hope you guys are still enjoying this, and would love to hear from you. Please leave your thoughts - Anna._


	18. Chapter 18

It was a surreal experience when Catherine headed downstairs a few minutes later to break the news. She found them gathered in the kitchen in a scene of innocent domesticity, the bright sunlight illuminating the dust on the window as Warrick poured coffee into patterned mugs, and as Grissom stowed away his puzzle book in the top drawer nearby.

He looked up as she descended the stairs, and Catherine worked to keep her face impassive. She did not want to give anything away before time.

"I heard you had a good trip to town," he began, sitting himself down in a kitchen chair.

"Pretty much the same as usual," Catherine replied.

She had done the trip so many times now that it was hardly noteworthy – she knew every stone, rock and dead tree for every inch of the route. But as she replied she felt Nick's eyes on her, watching carefully, and she immediately tried to dodge them.

"Where's Sara?" Grissom asked idly. "Lying down?"

"Upstairs in the bathroom," Catherine corrected, accepting a coffee from Warrick. It was piping hot, and she set it down on the table for a moment to cool. "In fact, she wants a word."

She monitored his reaction out of the corner of her eye, and saw him still, eyes contracting slightly, sensing something in her tone.

She knew he had known her far too long to be fooled completely, and his next statement confirmed it.

"Is she all right?" he asked carefully.

Catherine feigned an uncertain shrug. "I'd go find out if I were you."

He looked at her closely for a moment, his mind visibly ticking over, but then left, evidently deciding she was right. He drifted toward the stairs, and leaning against the bench opposite, Sofia stirred her tea, saying nothing. Beside her Nick's face was taut with worry, but they all held silent until they heard a door click closed upstairs, and they were finally alone.

"Well?" Nick prompted.

He looked ready to burst from the concern, and Sofia put a hand on his arm, soothing him.

"Positive," Catherine supplied.

She saw no point in withholding the verdict any longer, and watched as her friends digested it, and fell as one into a momentary stunned silence. Sofia looked shocked, staring at her, and Nick gripped the edge of the table, nodding to himself, and appearing deeply disturbed.

"Damn," Warrick said.

He set his coffee aside, forgotten now, and looked at her with undisguised anxiety. Catherine had no answers for him. She had deliberately kept up a brave face for Sara's sake, but her own mind was a quagmire of impending troubles. She saw clearly so many things that Sara did not yet see, and she barely knew where to begin in dealing with them. She knew they would have to, one at a time, but the mere prospect was perilously daunting.

"How is she?" Sofia asked.

Catherine shrugged. "I doubt it's sunk in yet. Right now she's just worried about telling Grissom."

Nick looked overwhelmed, and he moved to sit with them on the table, the chairs forgotten.

"How will he take it, do you think?" he asked. "Well?"

"I don't know," Catherine confessed.

She was concerned about that herself, and could only imagine what Grissom would make of it, but all that was now beyond her control. The most she could do was listen for shouting, and intervene if she was forced to, but even that was a long shot. She hoped it would not come to that.

"We'll know soon enough," Warrick said.

He reached over and took Catherine's shoulder, massaging slightly, sensing her anxiety. Catherine felt grateful for his touch.

"Well … their relationship's strong," Sofia ventured hopefully. "That should count for something."

"We know he loves her," Nick agreed. "I don't imagine he'd abandon her in a time of need. Not Grissom."

"That's a change of pace," Catherine said, noting the sudden swimming sympathy in his eyes. "A few hours ago you were ready to slay him."

"I was beginning to think we'd have to hide the shovel," Warrick added.

"Well, I was shocked," Nick admitted, "I don't deny that. But to be here now, and have it confirmed, it's a different kettle of fish, you know?"

Catherine nodded; she did know, and felt the weight of depressing uncertainty every bit as much as he did.

"I mean, they must be suffering up there," he went on. "Both of them. It's a hard thing to face."

"And this is just a taster," Sofia added. "From hereon, it's only going to get more difficult."

"Well we'll have to help," Catherine said. "Deal with it one thing at a time, support her as best we can."

"We can give her plenty of emotional support," Nick said, looking daunted nonetheless, "and make sure she eats properly, stays healthy …"

"Grissom too," Warrick said. "I don't know this is any easier on him."

"Or the baby," Sofia added.

They fell into silence, each of them imagining it, the effect of having a baby in the house. It was almost more than Catherine could take in, and she could only resolve to take one thing at a time. She did sense however that their idle lifestyle had fallen away, and that the blissful six months of rest and romance had disintegrated into memory. She longed for it, for those days which had been so wonderfully trouble-free.

"Nothing stays the same, I guess," Nick said, voicing her thoughts.

"Not for long," Warrick agreed.

And there was not much more to be said.

XXX

In the bathroom upstairs, Sara paced, trying to get her thoughts straight. She felt jittery – more jittery than she had ever felt in two years of sleeping with Grissom, but she knew the news did not compare to any she had had to break before. It was so different from her move to swing, from her almost drink driving charge, and she had no prior experience on which to base any expectation of his response. They had agreed they did not want kids, and now she was pregnant.

She heard him ascend the stairs, and had little time to brace herself before she heard his knuckle tap against the door.

"Sara?"

She took a deep breath, willing her skating nerves to settle, and reached for the shining door handle.

"Come in," she invited.

She held the door open for him, but he did not move. He stood immobile in the doorway, his uncertain gaze passing first over her face and then to the cramped room beyond.

He hesitated.

"Would you like to go into the bedroom?" he ventured.

She saw suddenly his dilemma – that there was nowhere to sit in the tiny bathroom, and perching on the edge of the bathtub was not an ideal option. She had not even seen it in her flustered state, but hastened to nod, recovering quickly.

"Sure," she said brightly.

She tried to smile, but his eyes only narrowed with concern, pondering her behaviour, and when he took her under his arm it was with a soothing hold reminiscent of that morning. He led her gently to the bedroom, and then sat her on the bed before closing the door behind them.

He picked up her hand as he joined her, holding it against his knee.

"I just want you to know that if this is about this morning, it's fine," he said, holding her fingers against the denim. "Don't worry about it."

Surprised, she looked up, and saw in his eyes that he was anticipating a further talk about her panic attack that morning. He no doubt expected the topic of conversation to be sexual, relating to the timing and possible consequences of when it had happened.

Sara felt her hands shaking, yet simultaneously felt a desire to correct his mistaken impression.

"It's not that," she admitted. "It's not the timing, or the attack, it's more about the reason."

He hesitated again, and laid his next words down very gently.

"I think I know the reason. And if talking to Catherine helps, or –"

Sara shook her head, anxiously withdrawing her hand. The strain was unbearable.

"It's not what you think it is," she said.

He stared, uncomprehending. He searched her eyes for clues.

"There was something I couldn't tell you this morning," she confessed, as her heart hammered in her chest. "Something very unexpected, and something I only just realised as we were making love."

He stared. Sara mustered all her courage.

"Gil," she said, shaking, "I'm pregnant."

XXX

The silence in the room was sharp, piercing in its intensity. Suddenly Sara could hear everything, her ears hypersensitive to all noise outside. She could hear a bird on the horizon, dull murmurs from downstairs, and even the rustle of the wintry wind as it blew through the dead leaves outside.

She held still, wary of any word or movement, wary of his reaction.

He did not hold out for long.

"You're _what_..?" he asked slowly.

He spoke as though he heard a foreign word in an interrogation room, or an excuse he could barely believe.

Sara mustered again her courage.

"I'm pregnant."

He goggled at her, his mouth open slightly, his gaze flying from her eyes to her stomach, breasts, and back again. She wondered what he saw; it was all no different. The days were still too early.

"_Pregnant_," he repeated, testing the word on his tongue.

"Up the duff," Sara confirmed, her patience breaking. "Knocked up, in the club …"

He held up a hand, the synonyms coming as unwelcome as multiple pregnancies, and he stalled her to take them one at a time.

"_Pregnant_?" he repeated.

"_Yes_," Sara replied.

Deciding it was time, she pulled the test stick from where she had stowed it in the back pocket of her jeans, and held it out for him to view. He took it mutely.

"It's positive," she said.

He said nothing.

"Catherine went to the drug store this morning. It's why I vomited yesterday, but I didn't want to tell you until I was sure. I knew you'd freak out."

His eyes jolted to hers, piercing sharply.

"I'm not freaking out," he said firmly.

But it was several long moments before he spoke again.

"I'm just … astonished."

Sara nodded, feeling vague relief – astonished she could deal with.

"I know it's a lot take in," she said. "If you need a moment to digest it, that's okay."

He did take a moment, staring at the pregnancy test as though checking its accuracy, but it must have passed as he looked then back to her eyes, his expression shell-shocked. She patiently held silent, waiting it out, until he at last swallowed his evident terror and spoke with something akin to rational calm.

"How far along?" he asked clearly.

"I'm honestly not sure," Sara replied.

He said nothing.

Seeing this answer dissatisfied him, she added more, "Catherine thinks about six weeks, give or take. That's normally when morning sickness first presents itself."

"Early days, then," he concluded.

"Early days," Sara agreed.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Well I'm glad you told me," he said.

His tense hand returned to her knee, though the gesture was stiff and unfamiliar.

"It's going to be okay."

Sara nodded. "It's fine," she lied.

Another pause.

"How do you feel about it?" he queried.

"Surprised," Sara admitted. "Scared. Actually a little terrified."

"It's certainly unexpected," Grissom offered.

His fingers settled around hers, his grip steadily softening.

"I know it wasn't planned," Sara said. "But now that it's happened …"

She paused, taking a breath.

"You know we don't have to go through with this," she ventured. "It's still early days, there are drugs in that pharmacy which will terminate a pregnancy."

"To force an abortion?" Grissom said, aghast.

He looked terrified – more scared than when she had announced the news itself.

"You can't be thinking of doing that," he said quickly. "To do that out here, outside of a doctor's care, is to put yourself at enormous risk …"

"Having the child is going to be even riskier," Sara said even-handedly. "This is no place for childbirth. And either way, this is going to involve risk. I'm already pregnant, and one way or another this child is going to come out – whether we carry it to term or not."

She had silenced him, and she could see the fear rattling around in his irises.

"I know it's scary, but I don't see a safe way out," Sara said.

"I still don't know I'm okay with you aborting," he said carefully. "There's a difference between putting yourself at risk when it's unavoidable and doing it voluntarily. If the pregnancy doesn't progress to plan, your body will know what to do, just as it will otherwise."

"You say you're not okay with aborting, but are you okay with being a father?" Sara asked, knowing this was the alternative. "Because you said in Vegas that you didn't want kids."

"In Vegas, I didn't," he said. "Las Vegas is no place for a child to be raised, certainly not happily or healthily, and not with our jobs balanced into the bargain."

"But out here?"

"Out here it's different," he said.

She saw the conclusion stirring faintly in his eyes, and she hardly believe it, and could believe even less that she felt the same one stirring within herself. She had had a day to adjust to the pregnancy now, and already the thought of disposing of the baby felt uncomfortable.

"You're saying you'd be happy to settle down here," Sara concluded. "To have a family?"

"We do have a family," he said, matter-of-fact. "They're all downstairs. The only difference is that now we're talking about adding a child to the household."

Sara fell silent; it was all too confusing.

"How do you feel about being a mother?" he probed.

Sara tried to imagine holding a baby in her arms, and wasn't sure how she felt about it.

"If you want to terminate it, that's fine," Grissom said, holding her hand. "I'm with you all the way and we can do it as safely as possible. But just make sure you think it through."

"I think you want to have the child," Sara said honestly.

"Not if you don't," he replied. "As you said, there's risk involved, and it's something you'd need to consider very carefully and be willing to undertake. You'd have to be dedicated. Raising a child is a big commitment, and I know it's a commitment you haven't been prepared to make in the past."

It was true – Sara had been adamant in the past that she did not want a child. Her own upbringing had been so traumatic, and their lives in Las Vegas so unstable, that it seemed foolhardy to even entertain the idea. On the other hand, it was now different, and if ever there was a peaceful life she could offer a child, it was here.

"It's up to you," he said. "If you want to terminate it, all you have to do is say. If you want to keep it, we'll do everything we can to prepare, and minimise the risk as best we can. And the life any child would have here would be a good one. It's peaceful, safe and happy, and it'd have six adults around to love it. It would have a proper family."

The idea was romantic, and Sara felt herself soften as she pictured it: Grissom at the kitchen table, reading with a child, a tottering form bouncing through the dusty meadows outside. It was not so bad – not so bad at all.

"Think about it," he said. "You don't have to decide tonight."

Sara nodded, grateful.

"But know that I love you," he said. "And one way or another, this will work out. It'll be fine, and we'll all be happy – no matter what you choose."

XXX

Despite the promise of further discussion, in the end it did not eventuate. Sara realised later that while she had barely been able to face it at the time, the decision had in fact been made right there in the bedroom, and the only outstanding point had been a question of her ability to adjust to it. She spent the next few days deep in thought, marginally withdrawn, and spent the majority of her time in Grissom's company. In the end they needed few words beyond that which they had already exchanged, and they passed several afternoons sitting on the hillside, watching the tufts of grass blowing in a chilly winter breeze, watching the clouds roll in and roll out again, their patterns and colour ever fascinating to her trained scientific eye. She lay back in his arms and felt him kiss her hair, his hand straying lovingly to hold her abdomen, acquainting himself with his unborn child.

As the days passed Sara inevitably adjusted to the idea. Catherine's solidarity in the bathroom, and the hugs she had received from the group afterward, had been most comforting, and the strength of Grissom's love had settled any doubts she had about her ability to see it through. Though the option to terminate remained – the box from the pharmacy resting on the kitchen bench – it remained untouched, and Sara grew instead a strong protective love for her child. She tried to imagine what it might look like, what its gender and personality might be, and found herself frequently daydreaming about the future. She imagined holding her baby, feeding her baby, disciplining a toddler, and then eventually sitting at the table and educating her child as it grew. She could picture Grissom sat there, glasses on, teaching him or her to read and write, or rocking the child in his arms when it cried or had a nightmare. The thought melted her heart, and in those daydreams she finally saw the blissful future that both Catherine and Grissom had hinted at, and her past in Vegas crumbled into an almost forgotten memory.

She knew Grissom felt it too. She turned on the pillow at night to see him gazing contentedly up at the ceiling, one arm behind his head, and his kisses and embraces had also never been more loving. Like her, he fell temporarily into an almost isolated existence, the two of them completely absorbed in each other, and Sara was grateful that the others took this in their stride. They seemed to elect to give them space, and picked up the slack on the chores and errands to town, asking no questions, and giving them time. Whenever Sara did step into the room they all hugged and kissed her lovingly, telling her not to worry, and their affection only strengthened her resolve. A few days later, when they eventually emerged from their solitude, Sara dropped the box of pills unused into the bin, and she saw Nick nod from across the kitchen, acknowledging the decision.

The weeks that followed were for Sara quite happy. Her relationship with Grissom was strong, her morning sickness minimal, and she watched with adoration the avid interest he took in all things pregnancy related. She caught him one day lazing around in the living room with Catherine, whiling away the afternoon as they reminisced at length about her pregnancy with Lindsey. She answered all his questions with complete honesty – almost more honesty than Sara could handle – but Grissom listened patiently and smiled at all her stories, and in no time at all he seemed an expert on what to expect. He took a keen interest in Sara's breasts and stomach, constantly monitoring for any change, and Catherine confessed to Sara late one night that he had approached her for advice on their sex life, and when they should stop having sex. Sara had smiled to herself, knowing they were far from that point, but his depth of interest and concern only strengthened her love for him.

All in all, perhaps one of the most remarkable things about her pregnancy was the transition it brought about in her friends. They were all accepting and loving, and as the days passed even became excited right along with her, but she also began to notice a subtle change in their own relationships. It was as if her pregnancy had propelled them forward into consummating their own relationships, and she saw a week or two after her announcement that Sofia and Nick seemed to be growing ever closer. Their absences in the bedroom upstairs and walks around the desert were growing ever longer, and she began to suspect that the relationship was crossing into the sexual domain. She witnessed, moreover, an identical change in Warrick and Catherine, and that these days whenever Catherine joined them in the living room, or in hanging out on the verandah, it was invariably with Warrick draped lovingly around her, and his hands seemed unwilling to let her go. Catherine also did not shrug him off, and Sara knew they were tightening.

Though Sara elected to give them privacy – the matter being none of her business since Sofia's headaches had healed – she nevertheless found herself at the centre of proceedings anyway, thanks largely to the close proximity they all lived in. She had been engaging in an innocent night-time trip to the bathroom when she heard whispers outside up the hallway, and the bathroom door abruptly swung open to reveal Nick standing there.

There was no way she could possibly avoid spotting the enormous bulge in his underwear, or the way his eyes dipped straight to the sink cabinet – where their contraception supplies were stored.

He pulled up abruptly instead, smiling with visible awkwardness.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realise you were …"

He grinned, caught. Sara, a wild playful urge seizing her, dried her hands and leaned calmly back against the coveted cabinet, raising a look of sheer innocence.

"Hey," she greeted, stifling a grin, "What's up?"

Her eyes dipped to his shorts, knowing full well what was up, and though he laughed nervously, for some reason he still lied.

"Just wanted to use the bathroom," he said, gesturing toward the toilet. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," she said, though she did not budge. "Go right ahead."

He stayed still, thwarted by her lack of movement.

"You don't have to be shy," she teased. "I've … pretty much seen it all."

She was referring to their wild night six months ago, when they had first returned from Vegas. She had seen it all then – the entire group had. Now was no different except for orientation.

He laughed to himself, and then stepped forward, conceding.

"C'mon, Sara," he confided, "let's not play games here, okay? Don't make this any harder."

"There is _no way_ I could make that harder," Sara replied.

He laughed, even as she finally conceded and stepped aside.

"You're dirty," he said. "You know I think Grissom's got a tiger on his hands here."

"You're just figuring that out?" Sara teased.

"Oh no, I knew six months ago. Your dirty knees after you emerged from the barn was a bit of a giveaway."

He rummaged in the cupboard, finding what he needed, and had stood to leave just as Sara stopped him with a hand to his arm.

"Nick," she said.

"Yeah?"

She let her smile fall, turning serious.

"Be gentle with her. Make sure there's a soft pillow under her head."

She knew Sofia's headaches had passed, but at the same time knew it would not pay for her to be thrown against walls or headboards. The last thing she needed was a relapse.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'll take care of her, okay?"

The serious expression in his eyes told her he knew perfectly what she was getting at, and he rounded it off with a kiss to her cheek.

"I'll see you in the morning."

He left, crossing the hall and back into his bedroom, where Sara heard Sofia's voice quietly querying what took so long.

"Just Sara being protective," he replied softly. "She wanted to make sure you're okay."

Sara did not hear the rest of the conversation, but it was then that she did hear voices floating up from the living room below. She crept to the edge of the landing, and saw Catherine down there with Warrick, pinned hard against the kitchen bench. They were kissing passionately, her head tilted back, and she saw immediately that Catherine's hand was deep inside the front of his shorts, groping and massaging as she unleashed six months' worth of pent up passion.

Warrick broke away suddenly, panting for breath.

"We'd better find somewhere private," he said. "We don't want Grissom walking in on us."

Catherine's eyes opened – and immediately locked onto Sara's at the top of the stairs.

"Actually, we already have a witness."

She looked completely unbothered, and though Sara moved into the shadows to leave them to it, Catherine called her back before she'd taken two steps.

"Sara."

She moved back to the railing. Catherine picked up a folded blanket beside her – a small pile of supplies were gathered on the table as though they had been planning a night-time picnic.

"We'll be down by the far fence if you need us."

"Only make sure you don't," Warrick added, grinning and throwing her a conspiratorial look.

Sara smiled to them, loving them both.

"I'll see you both in the morning," she said pointedly, and returned to the bedroom.

The sex must have been satisfactory, as Sara barely saw either couple for the entire next week, as they shut themselves away and engaged in what Grissom blithely called a sex marathon. Sara felt happy for them, and if anything was impressed that they had all held out as long as they had, and was not at all inclined to be even remotely bothered by it. Nick and Sofia retreated to his bedroom, interspersed by long walks around the countryside, and Catherine and Warrick came up for air even less than they did. Sara took over the cooking and the lighter chores – she had been forbidden from doing anything physically strenuous, cutting out the trips to town and any heavy lifting – and despite the occasional laughs and thumps from upstairs, the week was strangely quiet.

Nevertheless, she knew that like all things the bliss of love and romance had to end, and this time it was Nick's doing when the bubble burst several weeks later, and he summoned everyone to a team meeting in the kitchen. It was late afternoon when they arrived, everyone filing back in after another day of blissful idleness, and Sara sat down at the kitchen table beside Grissom, feeling only vaguely awake.

He pushed a coffee in front of her, his hand then settling as it frequently did on her shoulder, offering a loving squeeze. Across the table Catherine slid into an empty seat beside Sofia, and greeted her friend with an affectionate kiss.

"I feel like I've hardly seen you this past week," she said.

"And whose fault's that?" Grissom teased, joyfully raising an eyebrow.

"I can think of several culprits," Sara suggested, doing a quick sweep of the room.

"Man, you're lucky you're pregnant," Warrick said, throwing her a smile. "Or we could remind you of half the things you two have got up to."

"Don't let that stop you," Sara said, in a mood to have some fun.

She had spent a very pleasant afternoon outside with Grissom – lying in his arms on a picnic blanket several meadows away – and the glow, and accompanying fatigue, had not yet worn off. It was nice to be able to have sex without a condom, and Grissom was making the most of it. Yet looking around the room she could see almost identical giddy fatigue on all her friends' faces, with the possible exception of Nick, who was at the head of the table and looking oddly serious. She was far from alone.

"Personally, I think celibacy's overrated," Catherine said.

"I'll second that," Sofia said, sharing a delighted smile with her.

"Well at least we're all in agreement," Warrick ruled, lifting his mug to toast Sara, who happily clinked her own to his.

But Sara's eyes found Nick, and she saw that he was not smiling.

"What's up?" she invited.

"Yeah, spill Nick," Warrick added. "What's the big summons about?"

"I just wanted us to talk," Nick said. "Have a bit of a status check about where we are here."

"What's wrong with where we are?" Catherine asked, puzzled.

"Well … we have a baby on the way here," Nick said, gesturing hesitantly to Sara. "And that's just one thing. I mean, last summer when we all arrived here I know we all hoped this was only going to be temporary, but I think it's time to face facts that it doesn't look like that's the case. We've turned the corner of winter now, it's past six months at least, and I think it's time we had a talk about this stuff. About where we're heading."

"You mean a long term plan?" Sofia asked.

"Exactly – a long term plan."

"Nick," Grissom said carefully, "I don't think this is the kind of environment where we can easily make plans. There's too much uncertainty."

"I agree," Warrick said. "This is a day-at-a-time kind of place."

"Well I don't agree," Nick said. "I mean I know we've all had a lot to adjust to, there's been a lot of feelings and trauma flying around, and we've all needed down time to deal with that. But time's marching on, and there are still a lot of questions we haven't answered."

"Such as?" Catherine asked.

Sara wasn't sure she wanted to hear it, and hesitated to take any part in the conversation.

"Such as what's out there," Nick replied. "I mean I know we had a hostile experience in Vegas –"

"Damn right we did," Warrick said bluntly.

"- _but_," Nick went on, "we don't know that holds true for the rest of the country. Vegas isn't like other cities – never has been and never will be. And what happened there may not be a representation of what happened everywhere else. It's quite possible there are pockets of good people out there – citizens we should be linking up with. There may even be a doctor or a nurse who can help Sara when her time comes, and if there is, it's our duty to find out."

"This is like déjà vu," Sofia mused, passing a look to the rest of them.

"We tried all this, Nick, and it ended badly," Warrick said.

"_Very_ badly," Catherine said looking as if she couldn't believe that she was hearing it again. "In case you've forgotten we were very lucky to get out with our lives. We'd all be dead right now if it wasn't for Sofia."

"Or maybe you've forgotten that she saved your behind," Warrick added.

"No, I haven't forgotten," Nick said, holding his ground. "And I'm grateful every day, as she's well aware. But I don't think that's justification for sitting here in cowardice. I mean consider if there are people out there, people getting themselves organised and moving on, and in the meantime we've spent years just holed up here, unable to face it, _stealing_ to stay alive –"

"Stealing?" Sofia repeated.

"What, now you have a problem with it?" Catherine interjected.

"If you had a problem with that, Nick, the time to mention it would have been six months ago," Grissom said, temper rising.

"I don't have a problem with it," Nick said. "There was no choice. What I'm saying is –"

"That you want to hike out and put our lives at risk?" Sofia asked.

"_Again_," Catherine said pointedly.

"I don't think we have a choice," Nick said, tone firming. "We have a _kid_ on the way here, and if we're going to raise a child here for the next thirty years and settle down permanently, I think it's our responsibility to know the answers to these questions. This isn't stuff you can bury your heads in the sand on, we need to know. For all we know civilisation's carrying on quite happily in the next town –"

"There's a plague here, Nick," Grissom said, staring at him with disbelief, "Civilisation as we knew it has collapsed. Like it or not, we're on our own. We've already established that."

"And the sooner you adjust to it, the better," Catherine said bluntly.

"If it was just us, no problem, but we have a child here, Cath," Nick said.

"You keep saying that, but it's not yours," Warrick said. "Back off and leave Sara out of this."

Sara held silent, and looked away. She was liking the conversation increasingly less every second.

"I agree," Grissom said firmly. "If you want to go, Nick, go for your own reasons, but leave our child out of it."

"It's for your child that we need to do this, Griss," Nick said irritably. "And you should know that better than anyone here. It's Sara's life at risk, and even if she delivers safely, there's still a lot of stuff she's going to need, things we can't get around here. We need to start preparing for this, getting things ready. You can't leave this 'til the last second, man –"

"Well if you want to go out there and contract the plague, go ahead," Sara said. "I'm sure that'll be helpful."

"We can be careful," Nick said. "We didn't know what we were walking into last time, but this time we will. We'll take all the precautions."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Catherine said, shifting angrily in her chair.

"You really want to go traipsing out there with a pregnant woman?" Warrick asked. "And three beautiful women?"

"Sara can stay here where it's safe."

"And Catherine and Sofia?" Grissom interjected angrily. "You're willing to put them at risk? You know what's out there, Nick, you were there after it happened to Sara. She still carries the scars."

"I'm not playing down for a second what happened to Sara," Nick said carefully. "I know, I was there –"

"No, you weren't," Grissom retaliated. "You were several blocks away with Sofia. You weren't there to hear her screams, to hear her panic. You don't know what that sounds like, when your heart's in your throat, and you can hear your fiancé being raped through the wall –"

"_Gil_," Catherine said warningly.

Sara had got to her feet, the memory too unpleasant to proceed with. She crossed to the bench, nauseous and needing air.

Silence fell. She sensed Grissom move, but Sofia got to her first. She cast an angry look to the group and then looped an around Sara's back, holding her.

"You all right?" she asked.

"You gonna be sick?" Catherine added, swiftly joining her.

Sara struggled to stifle it, to block out the memory which tore at her senses.

"Take her for some air," Grissom told Sofia, gesturing to the door. "We'll be done in a minute."

Sara did not feel like leaving, but felt like hearing the rest of the conversation even less, and on balance had no problem with leaving them to slay each other in private.

She let Sofia lead her outside, and descended the steps to emerge into the late afternoon sun – the peaceful afternoon she had been enjoying so much with Grissom only an hour before.

It felt so far away now.

"Take some deep breaths," Sofia said, leading her over onto the grass. "Don't think about it."

It was rotten luck that they talked so loudly that Sara heard the rest anyway, Catherine's voice ringing clear to her through the open door.

"Nicely done," she said acidly.

"That was our fault," Grissom corrected, his voice heavy with guilt. "We shouldn't have spoken in front of her."

"I agree," Warrick said. "That was stupid. We shouldn't be upsetting her when she's pregnant."

"I didn't mean to upset her," Nick said. "I don't want to upset anyone here, I'm just –"

"We know," Catherine said, softening. "Just telling the truth – hard as it is to face."

"Look, at the end of the day, we're all in this together," Nick went on. "And if you all decide you don't want to do this, then I'll go along with the majority. And I won't say another word. I just think of her giving birth out here, of everything she's risking, and all the gear she's going to need … and I'm not sure that sitting back hiding out here is the responsible decision. Apart from anything else, we're talking about raising that child out here in complete isolation, with no friends its own age, without a clue about what lies thirty miles east of us. And the food shortage alone is a problem we're going to face very soon. And if you guys can look me in the eye and tell me truthfully that you're okay with that, then I'll hold silent forever. Just say so now."

An hour later they were agreed, with Sara's full endorsement, and two days later the party was ready, and Sara watched four of her friends disappear with loaded packs into the distance. She stood on the front steps alone with Grissom, knowing they had made the right decision, and yet still feeling nervous by it.

"Tell me it'll be okay," she said.

"They'll be back safe," he assured, holding her close. "They'll be very careful. Don't worry."

But it was easier said than done.

* * *

_Moving right along ... back to the action ..._


	19. Chapter 19

The trip was agony, the road, taken in silence. Sofia watched her shoes for the first while, morosely taking in the pattern the soles carved into the dust, the way the particles wisped into clouds with each step. She felt too down to talk, and around her, the only sound was of the soft thuds of footfalls of her compatriots. She was faintly aware of a chill in the air, a frozen edge to the wintry breeze that nipped at her neck and cheeks, but she was too miserable to register it completely. She did register an audible sniff from Catherine about two miles up the road, and out of the corner of her eye saw Warrick take her hand in his, but it was the only interaction they had for most of the trip.

Thereafter the hike proceeded with mundane routine, Sofia mandating a stop at the town for rest and water before they began their trek east – into the unknown. They walked parallel to the highway, concealed amongst the scrub, until mid-afternoon when they eventually reached a settlement, and paused at the top of a slope to view an isolated desert town below.

It was little more than a hotch-potch gathering of cement sheet houses, a dozen dirty, vandalised buildings that stood like lonely islands in the desert. They had little in the way of fences – a few strips of barbed wire tangled by weeds which had reclaimed them – and even at a distance Sofia could see grass growing in the spouting on the roofs.

"All that's missing are the tumbleweeds," Catherine said, heaving a sigh of disappointment.

Still, they had no choice, and after a short break to stake it out – making sure it was uninhabited – Sofia led the group down to investigate. She drew her gun, and entered the first run-down shack barrel-first. She stepped in carefully, not taking it for granted that they were alone, but soon stopped in the living room, stunned.

"Wow," she breathed.

"_Shit_," Warrick added.

The place was trashed. The couch was slashed, innards spilling, and personal possessions and knick-knacks were tossed helter-skelter throughout the room. The windows were all smashed, the shards melded into the carpet like prickly confetti, but most of all, the place smelt like a dried sewer.

"Well someone's been here before us," Nick said, indicating a pile of human excrement in the corner.

A few feet away Catherine turned her nose up, mouth open in revulsion.

"Evidently the plumbing's not working," Warrick added, taking Catherine's elbow to draw her away – they could not be too careful when it came to human germs.

"Probably making a statement," Catherine surmised.

"Yeah, and not a friendly one," Nick agreed, stopping to indicate a kitchen cupboard snapped off its hinges. "Let's hope they're well clear of this place by now."

It was not a nice thought, and Sofia found herself glancing through the smashed windows again, checking they were alone. Whoever had trashed the place was not someone she wanted to meet – or be within thirty miles of.

"We'd better stay close together just in case," Warrick said.

"Let's just search the place," Catherine said, looking unnerved. "Get out as soon as we can."

XXX

Sara's day was oddly productive. After her friends' departure she had endured a miserable few minutes on the verandah with Grissom, struggling with the heartache, but it was not long after that her well-honed survival instincts kicked in, and she went in search of a distraction. What she found was a pile of laundry, followed by a bathroom that needed cleaning, bed linen that needed changing, and several other miscellaneous household chores which meant that by several hours later, the house was in better shape than it had been in months. Grissom watched her with bemusement for the first few minutes, standing at the foot of the stairs with an eyebrow raised as she emerged from the bedrooms with armfuls of dirty clothing, but moments later he seemed to accept it as a viable coping strategy, and pitched in to help.

While she did her chores he cleaned the kitchen, unblocked the drain beneath the sink, and took their rubbish out to bury in their makeshift rubbish dump a mile away – the pit that had been hard dug by Nick and Warrick back at the end of summer. He then brought in logs for the fire, and stoked it up to a toasty glow that warded off the grey chill outside, and by mid-afternoon, when they both retreated to its side to hang up the wet laundry, Sara actually felt a little more at ease.

She perched to rest on the edge of the armchair, and smiled to herself as she watched Grissom arrange the socks into a neat little line on the rack. When it came to laundry, Grissom liked things to be perfectly ordered, and it was one of his more adorable quirks.

"Why don't you get some shut-eye," he suggested, pausing to indicate the blanket on the sofa. "You've been going all day."

"I'm fine," Sara said.

She tried to smile off his concern, but even as she did felt the fatigue settle into her body. She was always tired these days – but whether from her pregnancy, weight loss, or the psychological stress, she couldn't tell. She looked into the fire, mesmerised by its flickering.

"Come on," he said.

He finished with the last bra, dangling it over the rack, and then held out a hand, urging her over onto the couch. Sara went willingly, touched by his gentle concern, and paused on the edge a moment while he reached down for her feet.

"Shoes off," he guided.

She did not need to move – before she had even contemplated the problem he had done it for her, and lined up the shoes beside the coffee table. He reached for the blanket which had previously been folded and placed aside, and unravelled it for her.

"Lie down," he said. "Just close your eyes a while."

Sara paused halfway down, catching a glimpse of the dark sky outside. It had been gloomy and overcast all day, but it seemed darker now, the clouds grey and stormy, sucking the light from the world.

"It's getting dark," she said.

"Don't worry about it," he replied.

He bedded her down, and Sara rested her head on the soft pillow, feeling a pleasant cosiness as he tucked her in.

She opened her mouth again, but –

"They have a tent, they'll be fine," he soothed. "Just rest."

She felt him stroke her hair back, loving and tender.

"Join me?" Sara queried.

And he did not need much tempting.

XXX

In town, Sofia watched from the windows of the seventh house as the storm rolled in. The sky darkened, the grey clouds blocking the sun like an early dusk, and there came a damp chill to the air that smelled of impending rain. By the time they reached the next house the raindrops started, plopping thick into the dust outside, and by the time they reached the last shack in the row, the thunder had hit.

Sofia almost jumped as it exploded above the roof, and searching the last bedroom, she quickly shoved a few abandoned newspapers into her pack. They had found next to no supplies – the town was picked clean of anything useful – but that problem was now superseded by the storm.

She looked hurriedly over her shoulder as she clipped her pack closed, throwing it over her shoulder.

"Guys, let's go!"

She emerged into the filthy living room as the other three came hurrying back to meet her. The windows, as with all in town, were smashed, and the icy wind blew a spray of raindrops across her face.

Warrick jogged in across a carpet of shattered glass.

"Let's hurry, get the hell out of here," he said quickly.

"I'll second that," Nick said, quickly zipping his pack closed. "If we don't leave now, we'll be swimming back."

"It's a downpour already," Catherine said, throwing a scared glance to the rain. "We won't make it far –"

"We don't have to," Warrick replied. "Just far enough to set up camp – we can't stay here."

He threw a dark look to Sofia, and she nodded, ushering the group to the door, her gun clenched in her hand. Before they had departed, Grissom had pulled herself and Warrick aside, seeking several promises. One had been that they would get to safety by nightfall, and the other that they take close care of Catherine and Nick. Sofia knew his fears for Catherine were simply because she was female, and their last trip out had proven what a danger that was, but his fears for Nick were different, and related to his trauma in Vegas. Sofia knew how it had affected him, and for that reason was keenly aware that if they ever got stuck in another firefight, she would have to take care of Nick.

They paused on the doorstep. The rain was steady now, the droplets converging into pools, but there was nothing else for it.

"We'll have to make a run for it," Nick said.

He drew up his collar around his neck.

"You lead," Sofia said to Warrick. "I'll follow."

She gripped her gun tight, and as Warrick leapt from the porch Sofia urged Catherine and Nick out after him, before leaping off herself into the wet.

It was soaking. Her feet sploshed over the ground as the dirt slushed into mud, and the wind blew the rain in at an angle against her face. She kept her wet hands on her gun, her eyes ahead on Warrick as he helped Catherine negotiate the barbed wire fence and tangle of weeds on the fence post. Nick quickly vaulted it after them, and they paused in the desert beyond.

"We'll have to find higher ground!" Warrick called. "This place will flood."

"Let's go, man!" Nick said.

They turned to search out Sofia, and Sofia took one last guarded glance at the town, ensuring they were safe. Most of the houses were obscured by rain, but as her eyes paused on one a few hundred yards down, she saw a shadow suddenly slip from sight.

She halted, unsure what it was.

"Sofia!" Warrick called.

Nick jogged a few steps to hold out a hand, offering help.

"Hurry up, come on –"

But still Sofia hesitated.

"What is it?" Warrick demanded.

"It's nothing," she said, taking Nick's hand. "Let's go."

XXX

They hurried through the rain, Sofia still with her gun poised, taking regular glances over her shoulder. She felt on edge, not knowing what it was, unsure if it had been merely an effect of the wind. She had seen no signs of life in town, but that meant little. Their trip to Vegas had shown them that. She gripped Nick's elbow, ushering him along, wishing they could run instead of being weighed down by their packs and the drenching wet.

"What is it?" Nick asked, noticing her repeated glances. "Something back there?"

"I don't know," Sofia replied, honest this time. "Just keep moving – fast as you can."

Warrick looked scared, and glanced back himself, moving a fraction closer to Catherine.

"What did you see?" she asked quickly.

"Movement," Sofia replied.

She did not want to say more, but did not need to. Catherine quickly redrew her gun from where she had holstered it, and snapped off the safety. They moved at a brisk walk, half jogging and sploshing through the mud, each of them hurrying each other along. The rain soon soaked Sofia's clothes, her jacket waterlogged, her denim jeans clinging unpleasantly to her legs. She quickly became cold – but that was the least of her concerns. Better cold than dead.

"Let's put some distance behind us," she said, urging them along.

"The further the better," Catherine agreed.

"We'll camp somewhere safe," Warrick ruled. "Sheltered and out of sight."

"We'll be fine, man," Nick said. "Just keep walking, we'll be good."

None of them were keen to stop, and they kept going even beyond the several mile limit they had agreed upon. They walked to the horizon, around rocks and down muddy slopes until they left the town far behind them, and only stopped once they were shivering too hard to go any further. Nick, who had been a boy scout once in Texas, steered them to a sheltered section of rock that gave a little protection from the wind and the wet, and helped ease Sofia's pack from her shoulders. She was so soaked now that her muscles felt frozen; her energy depleted.

"You okay?" he asked, pausing with a hand to her face.

"Yeah," she said.

She shivered, but nodded, merely grateful that they had got away unscathed. Seeming satisfied that she was okay for the moment he set to work, and dug a torch from his pack before unearthing the tent for the group. It was completely dark now, and though the storm had passed it had left in its wake a drenching, steady rain, and one that did not seem to have any intention of letting up. She stood there illuminated by Nick's torchlight, Warrick and Catherine both shivering beside her as Nick refused their offers of help.

"You just stay right there, I'll make quick work of this."

His masculine confidence was one of the things she had found most attractive, and when combined with his chivalrous protection of her – working in the rain to while she waited in the dry – she felt her love for him come to the forefront with overwhelming intensity. He hammered in the tent pegs with expert speed, and in no time at all had erected the dark dome tent for the four of them to use.

He picked up the group's packs and tossed them inside, and then ushered them all in ahead of him.

"Thank you," she said, sitting down in the corner in the dry.

"It's nothing," he replied, with casual ease.

He zipped the tent closed, and then moved toward her, helping himself to her pack.

"We'll get your bed things set up, and then you can change, get into some dry clothes. This place is pretty isolated – we'll be safe here a while. We can sleep out the storm, get some rest."

It sounded wonderful, and Sofia sat there in a sleepy haze while he unpacked her things. It only occurred to her a few seconds later that she should help, but her muscles felt too exhausted to move.

"Here, put these on, dry yourself off."

He passed her some dry clothes and a towel, and Sofia moved weakly to obey him, happy to be rid of her drenched shirt. It occurred to her faintly – distantly – that it had been a bad idea to hike in the rain, but she was too tired to analyse it any further. All she wanted was to crawl into the sleeping bag where it was warm and dry, and sleep for a few years.

"Cath – you're quiet," Nick went on. "You okay?"

"Fine," Catherine murmured.

"Well change your shirt, okay? That one's too wet. You too, Warrick."

She heard them rummage in their packs, and then Nick's hands returned to her. He helped her pull on the fresh t-shirt, and then reached for her jeans.

"Take them off," he said. "You leave them on, you'll get sick. We need you healthy, okay?"

He didn't give her a choice, and was gently helping her off with them before Sofia had even debated the problem. He peeled them off, the denim soaked, and dried her skin with a towel before finally letting her crawl down into the waiting sleeping bag.

"Get some rest," he said. "Everything's going to be fine, okay?"

He kissed her, and when he finally joined her a few minutes later – in fresh clothes himself – she burrowed into him, snuggling into his chest. He held her close, and she closed her eyes, and for a while, she slept.

* * *

_Apologies for the delay in producing this chapter. It's a comparatively short one, but overall I thought people may prefer I post this than to make everyone wait another month or even longer for a longer one. What do you think? Still reading, enjoying? Curious for more? Feedback makes me write faster... :)_


	20. Chapter 20

Sofia slept deeply, held in such a state of depleted exhaustion that she was almost comatose. Every fibre in her body felt heavy with deep-set fatigue, and her mind was so numb and fogged that when she woke, it was several long moments before she remembered where she was.

She used those moments to orient herself, her brain piecing itself back together. The ground beneath her felt hard, the camping mat barely sheltering her from the rocky landscape below, but the sleeping bag she was wrapped in was warm and snug. She opened her eyes, and in the dark could just make out the curve of the domed tent above, and the memory then flooded back with such painful intensity that she had to close her eyes again – they were still in the desert, separated from Grissom and Sara, and far from home.

It was a painful thought. She knew that while the four of them had made it to relative safety, they had achieved nothing. They had found no food, and supplies back at the house were dwindling fast. She thought of Sara's baby, of Catherine's skeletal figure, and suddenly it seemed ridiculous that they had waited as long as they had to launch their search. She saw starvation peering at them from around the next corner, and knew that if they did not react fast, it would leap out and ambush them. She thought about it until she felt her anguish harden into steely determination – one way or another, she would have to find food, even if it meant another trip to Vegas. If that was the price of her friends' survival, then it was a price she would have to pay. That was all there was to it.

She was mulling it over just as she heard a whisper close by, and Warrick's voice sounded in the darkness.

"What's wrong?"

She turned her head, and saw then that he was addressing Catherine, who lay nestled in close beside him. She appeared half asleep, drifting as she murmured some kind of faint response.

"Hmm?"

She shifted slightly, whispering close, and then he moved.

"Hang on, let me find a light."

He sighed deeply – a masculine sigh of sheer exhaustion – and then reached to rummage in his pack behind his head. Sofia listened to the quiet flurry of buckles and zips, until a click sounded and a soft glow bathed the tent.

She blinked as her pupils adjusted, and knew then that she had to ask.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Warrick replied. "Go back to sleep."

It was sorely tempting, but there was something in Catherine's quiet plea which niggled at her, and after debating it for a moment she rolled onto her side to check. She saw Catherine there, her back turned as she snuggled into Warrick, but she seemed unusually quiet. Though Warrick shone the torch on her, and touched her shoulder to prompt a response, she seemed to barely acknowledge him, and instead snuggled down deeper into her sleeping bag. After a second Sofia saw it ripple, as though struck by a shiver from within.

She sat up a little.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

She stretched out a hand to her friend, and searched Warrick's eyes for an explanation.

"She says she's cold," he provided.

He perched the torch on top of his pack, positioning it like a lamp, and then reached to examine her. Sofia wriggled closer, shuffling over to Catherine's side, and slipped her fingers in to feel her friend's pulse at her neck. It beat steadily, but her skin did feel slightly cool.

She searched her mind for memories from the previous night, but came up with only a few scraps. She had a faint recollection that Nick had forced her to change, and could only guess that he had probably helped Warrick and Catherine too if they had struggled, but she was vague on the precise details.

"You did change before you went to sleep?" she asked.

"She changed her shirt and took off her jeans," Warrick provided, "but her hair was still wet. I think it's dripped all the way down her back."

He unzipped Catherine's sleeping bag and peeled it away to prove his point – how he knew Sofia wasn't sure, and she could only guess the knowledge came from some canoodling earlier, but Catherine's shirt and sleeping bag were indeed both damp. She had effectively fallen asleep in a puddle, and it was no wonder she had woken with hypothermia. She wished they had had the foresight to dry her hair earlier when they had settled in, but she knew truthfully that Nick had done extremely well in staying awake long enough to help them at all, and they were only lucky the problem was not more widespread.

"Sleeping bag's soaked," Warrick observed. "You might as well has fallen asleep inside a refrigerator – it's no wonder you're cold."

"I'm fine," Catherine murmured, with faint irritation "Don't fret."

"Don't fret? Don't lie."

"Sit up," Sofia urged, intervening before Catherine could find the energy to become stubborn. "Get changed."

Sofia's guiding hand was so firm that Catherine didn't argue. She relented, and sat up to reluctantly let them fuss over her. She seemed too tired to do much else, struck down with the same physical exhaustion that had hit them all; and Sofia knew from long experience that when Catherine was tired, she fell quiet. She did not protest as Sofia took charge, raiding Catherine's pack for a fresh supply of clothes, and dropping a dry shirt, pair of jeans and socks into her lap.

"Put them on, dry your hair, and then get in with one of us. You'll be fine in an hour."

"You can jump in with me," Warrick offered to her. "You'll be okay."

He tenderly swept back her hair, and she gave him a look of weary gratitude as he moved to help her. He took the hem of her shirt, and lifted it over her breasts and head with practiced efficiency, leaving her sitting there in nothing but her skimpy underwear. Sofia was struck by how vulnerable she looked in the dim torchlight; Catherine's frame was skeletal thin these days, and she looked frail and helpless as another shiver took her. Her damp hair had fallen messily about her face, and Warrick gently pushed it back again as he considered her remaining bra and panties.

"What about your underwear?" he asked. "They wet?"

The innuendo only occurred to Sofia when Catherine looked up at him, suddenly a fraction more awake. Her head was inclined to the side, her face still weary with exhaustion, but her eyes and lips now carried the faintest tinge of amusement.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly, hastening to give Sofia a reassuring look. "At least not with Sofia here."

"Pity," Catherine returned, making a weak effort at humour as she grabbed the fresh shirt. "You might've got lucky."

Warrick laughed, his brown eyes shining with love.

"Thanks. But not while you're sick. Let's get you well first, okay?"

He helped her get dressed, and trusting that Catherine was in good hands, Sofia chose to leave them to it. She gave her friend a reassuring touch on the shoulder, and then, her bladder full, went to grab her torch and pull on her boots.

"Where are you going?" Catherine asked, spotting her as she reached for the tent zip.

"Bathroom," Sofia said, holding up a roll of toilet paper. "I'll be right back."

"Don't go far," Warrick warned.

It was a freezing night – even more bitterly cold outside than it had been in the tent. Sofia saw that they had pitched the tent near a cliff-face, allowing for some protection from the elements, but the protection was minimal. The dome of their tent was sopping wet from the rainstorm, and the miles of dusty desert around them had been turned into a mud swamp. The few patches of shrubbery were still dripping wet, their branches sagging from the weight, and the patches of mud were interspersed with long rivers of puddles. Her own boots squelched as she wove around it all, searching for a dry spot, and her feet inside were cold and damp. She had not bothered to put her jeans on, and the bitter cold nipped at her bare legs as she hurried along, stopping at a dry patch of dirt sheltered by a boulder.

She glanced over her shoulder to check the tent was still within sight – they could not be too careful – and then put the toilet paper down on the rock to do her business. She had been camping many times before as a child, and the process of toileting in the wilderness did not bother her – at least not as much as it did Catherine, who as a city-bred child could sometimes be precious about it. Sofia remembered with a smile the time when Catherine had first been forced to stop on one of their return trips from town; the trip had been taken by the three women, and had been a relaxing wander in the afternoon sunshine before Catherine had announced she was ducking off the road for a second. Sara had wordlessly handed her a trowel and toilet paper, and Catherine had stared at it for a moment, clearly missing modern facilities, before she had reluctantly taken it. Sara, in one of her humorous moods, had offered Catherine a helpful description of the best position before Catherine had killed the conversation with a single stern look, and Sara had then leaned calmly against a tree to wait while the redhead stalked off into the desert, her shoes crunching in the grass. Sara had been unable to resist winding up Catherine about it upon her return, and had joked and jibed for a good half mile before Catherine had swiftly changed the subject.

The memory still made Sofia smile, but as she thought about it it was accompanied for the first time by a sense of unsettled longing. Sara and Grissom were both miles away now, and the separation remained painful, as though something had fractured amongst the group.

As she pulled her panties back on she tried to stifle the feeling, but was abruptly halted as something crunched in the desert nearby.

She froze. The noise was foreign, like a footstep on broken twigs, and she held still, ears sharply peeled. She knew better now than to announce her presence, or rush off to investigate – Sara's encounter in Vegas had taught them that – and she instead swiftly killed the torchlight, and moved the luminous roll of toilet paper out of sight onto the ground. She clicked off the safety on her gun, and crouched down, listening hard.

She felt suddenly the enormous gap between herself and the tent, and wished that she had swallowed her pride and let or asked one of the others to come with her. But she was alone now, and it was too far to call out.

Whatever happened, she would have to deal with it alone.

She gripped her gun tight, on edge. She scanned the desert, searching the darkness for sign of a human, but saw nothing. The miles of dark desert stretched out before her, wet and quiet, and though the view was impeded by the clusters of salt brush, all seemed still.

She craned her head a little, uncertain, peering around the nearest bush.

There was nothing there.

She sighed, and was just about to stand when she heard a voice behind her.

"Sofia?"

She jumped, and turned to see Warrick there, his eyes narrowed in faint confusion. He had gotten dressed, his jeans on over his boxer shorts, his feet jammed into his boots with the laces hanging untied and loose. Evidently he had dressed in a hurry, and he held in his hands his gun and flashlight that he had used to examine Catherine back in the tent.

"You okay?" he asked. "You've been ages. You got the runs or something?"

He looked at her with concern, and she realised suddenly that he had come looking for her.

She hastily shook her head.

"No – I thought I heard something."

She heard the fear in her own voice, and in that same instant his expression changed. His eyes flew over her bare legs, and the half-open blouse which barely covered her, and he raised his weapon, guarded.

"Heard what?" he asked. "Which direction?"

"It sounded like a footstep," Sofia said. "Twigs breaking."

She was careful to keep her voice low, and indicated vaguely ahead to where she thought it had come from.

"And it wasn't me?" he asked quickly. "Definitely not one of us?"

"No way. Wrong direction."

She still felt on edge herself, and kept her own weapon raised as she flanked him. The desert appeared still, but she knew appearances could be deceiving, and did not lower her guard. Warrick stayed firm beside her, and he appeared reluctant to go off to investigate, but instead scrutinised the desert, until a moment later when there were more footsteps, and Sofia looked around to see Nick and Catherine jogging down to meet them.

They jogged down the slope looking like trained cops; both with their guns hard outstretched, their fingertips clutching flashlights. The beams jiggled over the salt brush as they made their way down, all signs of sleep vanished. Nick's eyes locked onto Sofia as he dashed into the fold.

"What's going on – you okay?"

"You didn't come back," Catherine said, confused.

"We've got company," Warrick provided.

He said no more, but the hard concentration in his eyes was enough. He did not break his gaze from the surrounding landscape, and quickly summing up the situation, Catherine fell silent. There was a muted click as she removed the safety from her weapon, and stepped up warily beside him.

"Nick," Warrick said, with chilling calm, "Take Sofia and get her dressed." He spared Sofia a brief glance. "Go put some pants on."

Sofia was suddenly aware of how naked she was – standing there in nothing but her underwear and a flimsy half-open blouse. The frigid night air was freezing, and though she did not care about being undressed in front of her friends, she felt suddenly uncomfortably exposed, as if she was on parade for the entire world. Catherine threw her a wary glance, a hard protectiveness filling her eyes, and Nick took her wrist.

"Let's go," he said.

"Stay together," Catherine ordered.

Though she had been pale and trembling not five minutes before, she now looked wide awake, and there was a hard determination in her eyes which Sofia instinctively trusted. She made her way off with Nick, in a hurry to get it done, and as they hurried up the slope toward the tent his spare arm fell protectively around her shoulders.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he admonished. "It's not safe."

For once, Sofia did not argue with him. Though there had been a time when she would have, goaded by the slight sexist undertone, that time had long passed. She was not that naïve anymore, and knew that in their new hostile world women were a prized commodity. With no law and order to protect them, they were at the mercy of the violent dregs of civilisation, and the horrifying possibilities only began with rape. Sara had been lucky to escape it, and Grissom's fears for their safety were well justified.

She slipped into the tent and snatched up a pair of jeans, jamming them on as Nick continued to hover.

"You should've taken Warrick," he went on. "He could've turned around while you did your thing –"

"Catherine was sick," she interjected. "He had to stay with her –"

"She's just chilled, she's okay. She would've been fine until you got back. Your safety's more important, okay? The same goes for all of us. It's wild out here."

She looked into his eyes, and beyond his evident fear, saw a loving concern which made her relent. She nodded, and said nothing as she threw on her old LVPD windbreaker – though the collar was stained with blood from her head injury, it remained her favourite, the item reminding her of home.

Nick squeezed her hand as they left the tent again, emerging into the open night air.

"Stay close, okay?"

Sofia needed no guidance, and they hurried side-by-side back down the hill toward Warrick and Catherine. She saw their heads bobbing above the salt brush, several feet from where they had left them, and quickly jogged down to join them.

Warrick's eyes flicked up to check she was decent, but Catherine remained focused on something on the ground, and had her torchlight shone onto it with an expression of being deeply unnerved.

"Sperm," she reported, talking quietly as Sofia joined her. "It's fresh."

Sofia's stomach twisted as she instantly realised what it meant. Catherine touched her arm, offering support.

"Must've been watching you from the bushes," Warrick added, looking wary of her reaction. "Probably snuck away when I came down."

"Or he's still here," Catherine added darkly.

She carefully examined the surrounding bushes, moving her torch beam slowly from branch to branch. She met eyes with Warrick, dark and serious, as though sharing a silent plan, and he nodded in grim response.

"Walk with us," Catherine said.

She put a caring hand to Sofia's back, sympathetic to her shocked silence, and led her over to a natural landmark a short way away. It was a large collection of rocks accompanied by a dead tree, and she sat Sofia down at the base, on a secluded patch of dirt that was still dry. Warrick deposited Nick beside her.

"You two stay here," Catherine said. "No matter what happens, stay together and keep your guns close. We'll be back."

"Where are you going?" Nick asked dumbly.

Sofia thought she knew, and the thought only made her feel even more rattled. She tried not to meet Catherine's eyes, which were looking at her with a deeply disturbing calm.

"We're just going to make sure it's safe," Warrick said. "Stay here with Sofia where we can find you both."

"Don't go anywhere," Catherine emphasised.

She leaned forward from her position knelt in front of them and gave them each a hurried peck on the lips. She lingered in front of Sofia, her hand on her shoulder.

"You'll be fine. We've got you looked after, okay?"

And after giving her another peck on the forehead, she squeezed her arm and left with Warrick, and the two stalked off like hunters into the darkness. Sofia felt Nick move closer, and his hand slipped down to tightly grip hers, but he seemed similarly unable to say anything.

Two minutes later Sofia heard the gunshot – ringing loudly through the night like a cannon – and another two after that, Catherine and Warrick returned. They strolled back looking slightly uncomfortable, Warrick's hand on her shoulder as she holstered her weapon.

Nick looked relieved to see them.

"What happened?" he asked quickly.

Sofia thought she knew, and stared down into her own lap, feeling too numb to speak.

"He's dead," Warrick provided.

They offered nothing more, and after a moment of silence Warrick moved.

"I'll go grab our things."

A short time later they set off into the night, their packs back on their shoulders, Sofia feeling the weight of far more than just its contents. She put one foot after the other, numbly walking with them as they wove their way through the salt brush, heading for the open desert. She felt tears in her eyes, but simultaneously felt unable to cry, and the time passed in a strange mental haze. She felt Nick touch her shoulder, something about that it "had to be done", heard Catherine query if she was okay, but she said nothing to any of them. After a while Nick settled for simply walking beside her, and they trekked on across the endless miles of desert in silence.

Sofia felt strangely mentally detached as the hours passed, her weariness returning in full force, only faintly aware of events around her. She sensed the first raindrops hit her windbreaker, landing in a steady _plop-plop-plop_ rhythm, and then it intensified until they were walking in a downpour again. Sometime after that Warrick became worried about Catherine, and a mile or two further on she began shivering hard. The men too seemed constantly worried about something behind them, glancing repeatedly over their shoulders as though there was something there, but Sofia had little energy to follow the conversation.

A short while later Sofia recognised the dirt road again, that blessedly familiar track that led home, and felt a brief period of relief before disaster struck, and Catherine's knees buckled from under her. She crouched on the roadside, head in her hand, shaking uncontrollably.

"Shit," Warrick said.

He tossed his pack to the ground, and grabbed hold of her.

"Cath? Cath!"

Catherine's clothes were wet through, her hair dripping, and she shook her head vaguely in response.

"It's getting worse," Nick said, dropping to his knees in front of her. "She needs _help_, man."

Even in her shock Sofia glanced around, but they were alone. She dropped instead to her knees, struggling to focus enough to help.

"It's okay, Cath," Warrick said, holding her to him as she shook, her head buried in his shoulder. "It's okay …"

He cooed to her, trying to warm her even though he was shaking himself. His own shirt and jeans were long wet through, and he looked weak.

"I'll go for help," Nick said. "The house isn't far –"

He struggled to his feet, wavering.

"… I'll get help …"

"Hurry, Nick –"

Nick wasted no time, and was gone before Sofia had even wrapped her head around what was happening, and soon he disappeared from sight. Warrick cradled Catherine in his arms, soothing and cooing at her whispered apologies, and Sofia sat with them, wrecked and helpless.

"It'll be okay, Cath … it's okay …"

Sofia only wished it was true, but knew the reality was that they were far beyond that point, and that whatever happened now, chances were it would not be okay.

Their luck had run out.

* * *

_Looking ahead to the next chapters and all I can see is action, action, action ... May slow it down eventually for the epilogue but I guess we'll see. :)_

_Would love feedback if people have the time. :)_


	21. Chapter 21

In the night, Sara laid awake, listening to the crackle of the fire. They did not often sleep downstairs, but the rooms upstairs felt so empty without their friends that it had happened naturally tonight. Grissom had placed a mattress in front of the fire, and now she lay upon it, watching the firelight flicker throughout the room. It was toasty warm, the thick blankets fallen to her waist, and she had to admit that the room did vaguely resemble an advertisement for a romantic getaway. In other circumstances she knew they would have made love, thereby completing the picture, but despite the perfect set-up it had not happened tonight. Neither of them felt relaxed enough for sex.

Instead, Grissom had held her, and spooned her for a greater part of the evening. His hands had been unusually possessive, roaming freely under her shirt and pyjama bottoms, but the touches hadn't been sexual. While his hands roamed they had always returned inevitably to her abdomen, right above their baby, and they had lingered there, as though he was contemplating what lay beneath.

She had let him touch her – it had been easier than tackling the subject verbally, which to Sara felt like a growing quagmire of concerns. Though she felt a budding love for her baby, she knew also that the naïve excitement she had felt a month before had long worn off, and had been replaced now by a much more realistic sense of alarm at how they were going to actually handle it. She knew that however it ended, it was not going to be in picture-perfect catalogue happiness. But she had made her choice now, and she had to face it, but still it was terrifying.

She sensed him thinking about it now, his fingers dancing over her abdomen, his little finger stretched out to nestle itself in her pubic hair, and she was not surprised when he finally admitted to being awake.

"Sara?" he murmured.

"Mmmm?"

"Are you awake?"

What a stupid question, she thought. Aloud, she said -

"Evidently."

He propped himself up on one elbow, and his fingers splayed across her abdomen, possessively caressing her. He had pulled down her pyjama bottoms an inch or two, exposing her for him, and she knew full well what was on his mind.

She just hoped he did not want to talk about it.

As luck would have it, however ...

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Relaxed," she admitted.

She had one arm behind her head, and had been gazing at the ceiling, mulling things over, but still she felt the urge to steer him away from the subject of her pregnancy. With their friends missing she felt only able to deal with one crisis at a time, and so she steered the talk quickly into safer waters.

She passed him a teasing slip of a smile, and then added, "Though if you keep stroking me like that I may have to soon revise my assessment."

He raised an eyebrow slightly, a hint of something sexual passing through his eyes, though in her pubic hair his little finger stilled, and then promptly left.

It was an ominous sign. She knew that in other circumstances he would have long seduced her by now, and would have seized the opportunity of their solitude to take her passionately all over the room, yet tonight he had not laid a hand on her, and she knew it was not just due to the stress of worry over their friends. Grissom had used her as stress relief before, and often it made for some of the best sex of their relationship, but tonight he seemed hesitant.

She looked away when she saw the conversation stirring in his eyes, and braced herself for its inevitable delivery.

"You're thin," he said.

It was not what she had been expecting, but she sensed quickly that it was a roundabout route to the same thing. His fingers had shifted upward toward her ribs, tracing the protruding bones.

"You're saying I wasn't always?" she teased, mocking offense.

"No, you were always thin," he replied, fingers stopping between her breasts. "But now you're _very_ thin."

She did not know what to say, and struggled to find a response.

"I'm no thinner than Catherine."

"Catherine we can take care of. She's thin, but not in strife. _You_ have a condition."

There it was, Sara thought – the conversation she had wanted at all costs to avoid. The term lingered in her mind, and quickly adjusting to the fact that they had apparently taken a time warp into the nineteenth century, she searched her mind for a reply.

"This isn't the dark ages. You can call it what it is – a pregnancy. And I might add that it's a perfectly natural state, not an illness."

"I wasn't referring to your pregnancy being an illness," he said, swiftly defensive. "But rather my concern that your illness may affect your pregnancy."

Sara said nothing. She knew precisely what he was talking about, but felt no urge to engage in it.

"Whatever terminology you choose to use you can't deny that you're thin – or that your body will need strength to see this through."

Sara closed her eyes, sighing involuntarily. It was not the first time she had been faced with an unwanted discussion about her weight – the topic had been cherished not just by Grissom but by the entire team. Once the novelty of her pregnancy had worn off, the excitement had dwindled into concern, and over the preceding weeks she had seen all her friends take an increased interest in her figure. It had started with Nick, who when he hugged her complained that her bones were protruding under his fingers, and he had gone so far as to use the term "emaciated" before Sara had glared at him. Sofia and Warrick, perfectly interpreting the glare, did not dare broach the subject, but that had not stopped them from making their thoughts known – it had not escaped Sara that whenever the two were allocated dinner duty they never failed to give her the largest helping, despite the limited supplies, and she had sensed them all sharing looks with each other across the table whenever her back was turned.

The only one Sara had tolerated the subject from had been Catherine, and it was a discussion which had occurred only a week after her pregnancy had been announced. Sara respected Catherine's position as medical officer within the team, and knew also that she was fully dependent on her to help her through the process, and when Catherine had kindly requested permission to take a look at her, Sara had known better than to resist. Catherine had led her to the girls' bedroom upstairs, and sat her on the bed before conducting a thorough and private examination. Strangely enough she had not mentioned Sara's skeletal figure in any direct form – she had taken data on her weight, pulse, blood pressure, and even probed her mental status – but had not addressed the subject verbally. For that Sara had been grateful – Catherine's tact had been as flawless as ever in knowing what to ask and not ask – and despite not sharing a word on the subject Sara had emerged feeling as if it had been fully addressed, and had known that Catherine had her well taken care of.

Catherine had examined the others too, taking them upstairs one at a time, and it had been then that Sara had realised they were facing starvation. It was then too that she had started to worry intensely herself about their prospects, and started to feel grave concern for the fate of herself and child.

Nevertheless she still did not welcome Grissom discussing it, and feeling vaguely irritated, she moved to fish his hand out from under her shirt, where it had gradually roamed upward before settling on a breast.

She quickly evicted him, sitting up on her elbows.

"Sara?" he queried.

His eyes flashed with incomprehension, unsure what he had done. She usually allowed him to fondle her at will.

"I need a drink," she said.

She had tossed back the blankets and was halfway out of bed just as she heard it: a shout in the distance, penetrating the hard rain outside.

"… SOM!"

Sara froze, one foot on the floorboards.

"Was that –"

"I'm not sure," he replied.

He sat up himself, one ear cocked, waiting.

It came again, and this time there was no mistaking it.

"_SARAAA!"_

It was Nick – a scream of frantic desperation, and as panic gripped Sara her instincts flew into gear. In a flurry of blankets she leapt to her feet, and dashed barefoot to the kitchen, stopping at the hatstand by the door.

"NICK!" she bellowed.

She jammed her feet into sneakers, threw on a raincoat and snatched up her gun before throwing the bolt back, and leaping outside into the wet.

It was freezing, the rain vaguely reminiscent of Armageddon, and she threw herself down the stairs into the mud of the driveway, her eyes frantically searching for him.

She saw him up ahead; pelting down the driveway toward her, eyes wide and arms flailing with unbalanced hysteria.

"_SARAAA!"_

"NICK!"

The shout came from behind, from Grissom. Sara had not even stopped to see if he had followed – she had just known he would – and as he thundered down the stairs behind her they ran up the driveway together.

"NICK!" she repeated.

Her sneakers sploshed in the mud, the ground slippery and offering no grip, but she pelted through it until they hit him – and he crashed into them full-on, Sara and Grissom catching him between them.

She saw in a split second that he was utterly mad, his expression terrorised and unhinged.

He cried as he blurted out his words.

"They're following us," he declared, rain and tears soaking his face. "They're chasing us, Griss, and Catherine's down, we can't carry her, and Sofia's sick, she's –"

Sara did not wait for the rest.

"Where?" she demanded.

"Up the road," he said. He threw an arm wildly behind him. "Up the road, up there –"

Sara bolted. Leaving Grissom to take care of him she flew up the road, cocking her gun as she ran. As she sprinted in the dark she found herself instinctively grateful for the thousand trips she had made up the track in daylight; she knew every inch of the track intimately, and dodged every pot-hole and tree root without even needing to see them. Her feet carried her deftly up the road, her footfalls lone thuds amidst the rain, and she ran for what felt like forever before she finally saw them – three lonely figures huddled helplessly by the roadside, two of them cradling the third.

Even at a distance she saw they were shaking, and that mother nature had given them a drenching; they were all as soaked as if they had swum back through the desert.

She did not chance a shout, wary of Nick's peculiar reference to being chased, and she instead hurtled into the fold without warning, her mind swiftly summing up the scene like a triage doctor.

She saw immediately that all three were ill. They were all shivering hard, and there was a vacant disengaged expression to both Sofia and Warrick that was utterly alarming, but summing up the scene her hands shot straight to Catherine. She lay pale and weak in Warrick's arms, and she was evidently the priority. She reached forward to take over.

"Give her to me," she said. "Right here –"

Warrick looked at her for a second, plainly wondering who she was, but upon recognising her he relinquished his lover, and Sara took Catherine in her arms.

Warrick gave her a weak look of relief; his body language one of utter defeat.

"_Sara_…" he said.

He looked like he wanted to fall into her arms, but they were already occupied by Catherine.

"It's okay," Sara said quickly. "I'm _here_, it's okay."

She had to hope that was enough – she had no time for anything more – and she turned her attention to Catherine. She was trembling head to toe, her skin pale, her red hair plastered by water to the sides of her face. Sara reached to push back to the strands, trying to get a good look at her.

"Cat?" she prompted.

She was freezing cold, and lay in Sara's arms like a dead weight. Sara threw an anxious glance over her shoulder – Grissom was running toward her in the distance, accompanied by Nick, but they were still a way away. She realised suddenly how cold the air was; how drenching wet Catherine's clothes were, and that she herself had landed in a puddle when she had thrown herself down to help. She could feel the mud had soaked through her pyjamas at her knees.

"_Cat_?" she repeated.

She touched her pulse, and found it present.

Abruptly Catherine stirred – her head turning against Sara's shirt.

"Sara…?"

She fought to open her eyes, plainly on edge.

"You're okay," Sara assured, holding her close to soothe her. "I've got you, you're okay –"

They were evidently all a wreck, and she shushed her as she examined her, but had little time for more than a cursory examination before Grissom arrived, splashing straight through the last few puddles before hurtling himself into the mud with her, Nick behind him. It had been only a few minutes since they had left the house and he already looked a mess – his hair and t-shirt speckled with rain, his eyes wide with fear – but there was no time for pleasantries as he reached straight for Catherine.

"Is she hurt?"

"Hypothermic!" Sara reported.

It was her best guess – she could see no blood or sign of pain to indicate anything else, and none of their witnesses were in any shape to fill her in.

She knew straightaway what had to be done – Nick was still shifting from foot to foot in the puddle behind Grissom, his eyes sweeping the landscape like an animal scared of becoming prey – and not knowing whether he was being paranoid or not, Sara guessed they only had seconds.

She was glad that Grissom was so flawlessly in tune with her; before she had even spoken he was reaching to meet her halfway, bundling Catherine over into his arms.

"I'll take her, you bring them!"

Catherine made a small noise of protest, no doubt sensing the set of arms had changed from comforting to masculine, but they had no time to indulge her. Grissom got up, carrying her, and Sara moved to swiftly round up the others.

"Let's go, come on –"

She tugged on the arms of Warrick and Sofia, hauling them mercilessly to their feet, but nearby Nick was spinning out of reach, hovering antsy beside Grissom.

"They're following us, Griss, they're _coming_ –"

He was panicked, but Grissom's rebuke was swift.

"Then stay quiet and obey Sara," he replied.

There was a biting edge to the command which Sara took as an indicator of Grissom's stress levels, but Nick completely missed the tone. His scared eyes found Sara, hopeful yet traumatised, looking for leadership like a ship praying for a lighthouse. The sight was scarier than anything else Sara could have encountered, and she realised with a sinking horror that all four of her friends were broken.

She just hoped it wasn't permanent.

"It's okay!" she said, trying to project confidence into her voice as she re-routed her tracks toward Nick. "Just start walking, you're okay –"

She found herself wishing that she could hold all of their hands at once, but while also balancing her gun this was humanly impossible, and she settled instead for giving them kind yet urgent nudges on the back, ferrying them along like schoolchildren.

"Just walk with Gil, you're safe … follow him …"

She urged them along behind him, and they obediently followed, silent like the walking dead. Sara followed a foot further still behind, walking backwards and holding her gun cocked and ready at the road. She knew she was the sole line of defence, and that she had to get the others home no matter what, yet she was still unsure if the foe was phantom or real. Nick's state gave her no clues – he was so deep in shock that she knew she had a job ahead in unravelling him – and all she could do was conclude that it was not worth the risk.

She held her guard as they trudged slowly home, Grissom walking slowly with the weight of Catherine, and she utilised the time to process their situation: they were in danger, all four of her friends were ill, and something bad had clearly happened. It was a menacing scenario by any standard, yet by the time they reached the house her brain had wrestled it all into order, and when she dashed up the steps and entered she knew exactly what to do.

She ushered the group inside, and then flew into action: she bolted the door, jammed a chair under the knob, and closed all the blinds before she dashed back to the fireside to help Grissom with the triage.

He had not made much progress; he had set Catherine down on her feet, gathered the others in a flock close by, and then stopped – his hands hovering an inch above Catherine's soaked clothes, suddenly thoroughly out of his league.

"Sara –" he started.

He threw her a look for help.

"Take the guys," she commanded.

She tore towels, underwear and clothes from the drying rack by the fire and thrust them into his chest, before gesturing out of sight toward the kitchen.

He caught on immediately, and a moment later had rounded up both men to go with him, leaving Sara alone with Catherine and Sofia.

Sofia had sank onto the rug in front of the fire, staring absently into the flames, and trusting that she would be all right for a minute, Sara turned her attention to Catherine.

Grissom had deposited her on the coffee table, and she sat somewhat lopsided, appearing on the verge of physical collapse.

Sara knelt in front of her, taking both of her hands. They were cold and wet, and she smothered them with her own.

"Cat," she said gently. "Can you hear me?"

Catherine lifted her eyes to focus on her, and blinked twice hard as if to clear something from her vision. When she finally recognised Sara she gave the most minute nod, but did not stop shaking.

"Are we safe?" she asked.

"You're safe," Sara assured quickly, rubbing her hands. "You're safe with me. You're home now."

Sara could tell she was highly agitated – despite how wet she was, how icy cold and ill, she appeared to be fighting at all costs to stay awake. Her fingers were rigid and tense, and her eyes flew about the room with intense distrust.

"You're safe," Sara repeated. "You're home with me now, I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

She did not relax, but Sara did not expect it to happen instantly; she had too much experience with trauma herself to expect instant results, so sought to distract her instead.

"Cat, listen to me. You're very cold right now. We need to dry you off, get you changed into some fresh clothes, okay?"

Her reactions were slow, but she attempted a nod.

"Stand up – hold onto me."

She helped Catherine shaking to her feet, and Catherine held onto her arms for balance as Sara set to work. She did the job without fuss, not wanting her friend to feel embarrassed, and soon had her stripped of her shirt and jeans. Both were soaked through and heavy with water, and she tossed them into a sodding pile on the coffee table as Catherine stood there nothing but in her bra and underwear, trembling and looking around anxiously.

"The others," she said. "Warrick, they're –"

"They're fine," Sara said, catching the way her eyes were anxiously searching the room. "The guys are in the kitchen with Gil. Everyone's safe."

She seemed to take a second to absorb this, and Sara used it to ponder her next move. She had planned to leave Catherine in her underwear, but seeing them now forced her to change her mind. Both items were soaked, wrinkled and plastered to her skin; they would have to come off.

"I'm going to remove your underwear, okay?" Sara told her. "We'll put dry ones on."

"Just do it," Catherine replied.

She sounded impatient with Sara's gentle approach, and removed a hand from Sara's elbow to reach around and flick open her own bra catch, popping it loose. As Sara obligingly removed it and tossed it aside she was reminded yet again of Catherine's former life as a stripper; after stripping in front of hundreds of wild, drunken men she apparently had no qualms whatsoever about letting Sara help her in a time of honest need, and showed not a scrap of embarrassment as she pushed down her panties and stepped out of them, leaving them in a twisted mess on the floor.

She was naked now, and Sara draped her immediately in a large white towel, wrapping her up snug and warm before advising her to dry herself off. She tossed the wet panties onto the pile with the rest, and snatched up some fresh clothes from the drying rack before returning to help her dress.

As she completed the process she stole glances toward the fireplace, keeping one eye on Sofia, and became increasingly worried as she realised that Sofia had failed to move since sinking onto the rug. She remained leaning against the side of the armchair, knees arched, staring vacantly into the flames.

Sara's heart knotted with fear; she had seen that look before, long ago, back in her own childhood. She suddenly rushed to get finished with Catherine, questioning the fact that she had prioritised her, and helped her on quickly with fresh jeans, a warm coat, and a blanket around her shoulders before she lowered her onto the mattress that she had vacated with Grissom just minutes earlier.

"Sit here," she said, making her comfortable. "Keep the blanket around you, stay warm."

"Where are you going?" Catherine asked worriedly.

"I'm going to help Sofia," Sara said, sparing her a quick squeeze to the shoulder. "Just stay here, I'll be back, okay?"

"Okay."

She sounded no less agitated, but had it at least together enough to attempt to follow Sara's instructions. She remained where Sara had left her, snuggled in the blanket, and Sara moved to join Sofia.

She heard Grissom shout out from the kitchen.

"Sara, how are you doing?"

"We're not there yet!" she shouted back. "Sit tight!"

She did not want the men returning before she had helped Sofia change, but as she crouched in front of her and took a look she saw immediately that that was not the problem. Unlike Catherine, Sofia seemed relatively dry; her jeans were speckled with water from the rain, wet but not drenched, and her LVPD windbreaker – the one that was bloodstained but which Sofia still cherished – was waterproof. The only thing that was wet on her was her hair, and it was draped like a wet sheet down her back, but none of this explained her state.

"Sofia?" Sara questioned, touching her knee. "It's Sara. You feeling okay?"

Sofia did not answer. She did not even look at her, but stared through her to the fire.

Sara moved to hold her closer.

"Sofia?"

No answer.

"You know you're safe now. You're home, you're safe with me. It's okay."

There was still no reaction, and Sara realised with a crunch that Sofia was deep in shock.

She heard Grissom shout out again from the kitchen.

"Sara, talk to me!"

"You can come in!" she replied.

She saw no choice. Plainly something was very wrong, and though she knew what to do, she did not want to delay the guys access to the warm fire either. From what she had seen they were just as wet and ill as Catherine.

Grissom returned with the two of them in tow – both dressed and dry – and led them to sit on the mattress beside Catherine.

"Sit down here with Catherine," he said. "Just rest a minute."

He placed blankets around their shoulders, and then looked over the top of their heads to Sara. She passed him a grave look, trying to wordlessly communicate to him Sofia's state.

He received it perfectly, his eyes narrowing slightly, and he moved to rise and join them just as Nick caught him on the wrist.

"Wait, Griss, Sofia, she's –"

He sounded even more agitated than Catherine, but like Sara, Grissom quickly moved to calm him.

"It's okay," he said. "I'm going to go help her now, you stay here with Catherine and Warrick, and stay warm."

He left before they could debate it, but Sara saw all three sets of eyes follow him across to where she sat with Sofia. Knowing there was nothing worse she could give Sofia than an audience, Sara quickly urged her up.

"On your feet," she said, gently but confidently. "Let's go."

Sofia obeyed without even seeming to comprehend it, her movements mechanical and absent-minded, and taking a side each they helped her into the relative privacy of the kitchen. Sara had intended to pull out a chair for her at the table, where she saw a lone candle burning and a pile of wet clothes from the men, but Sofia barely made it into the room before she lost interest, and sank to sit on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets, ignoring them.

Grissom's eyes widened with barely restrained concern, but Sara held up a few fingers to him, holding him short of launching into a series of questions. She knew Grissom was superb at handling some forms of counselling – in particular philosophical discussions about their situation – but when it came to raw trauma, it was Sara who was a library on the subject. It was Sara who had gone through it all in her own childhood, and who still lived it with it every day. It was her who knew what to do now.

She knew straightaway there was no point in questioning Sofia – she was plainly deeply in shock and incapable of conversation of any kind, and so she instead knelt on the floor with her and reached for her, doing the only thing which she knew would help.

"Come here …"

Sofia willingly leaned into her arms, and Sara held her.

She said little for a while, merely holding her close and shushing her, comforting her as a mother might, and Sofia leaned against her shoulder and absorbed it all. She did not cry – even now Sofia was not the sobbing kind – but Sara waited it out until a few moments had passed, and when she felt Sofia relax slightly, her muscles slackening, she finally chanced to whisper in her ear.

"Sofia, I want you to listen to me, okay?"

She did not reply, but Sara took that as an affirmative regardless.

"I know you're hurting a lot right now, and I know you're not ready to talk about it, but I want you to know that no matter what happened out there, no matter what you went through, we're here for you. You're safe with us now, and we'll never let anything happen. We love you far too much, okay?"

She hoped she had got it right. If she was honest with herself she knew that profuse speeches of love were not her strong point – such territory was held better by Catherine, who did not hold back in expressing her feelings for anyone in the group, but she said it, and meant it.

"You know we consider you family," she went on. "You're a part of us. And whatever you're feeling right now, whatever you need from us, we'll support you. I'll help you deal with it, every step of the way."

She had run out of words, but hoped it would be enough. She continued to hold her, and saw that next to her, Grissom's eyes had softened immeasurably, his heart breaking. He had watched the entire scene without commenting, but now that Sara had fallen silent seemed to feel prompted to say something, and she saw indecision flit through his eyes before he shifted forward hesitantly, and laid a hand on Sofia's back.

"She's right," he said simply. "We care a great deal."

It was all he said, but for Grissom it was ground-breaking. As much as Sara loved him she knew he was woefully inept at expressing his feelings verbally, and the fact that he had even attempted it was a sign of how bad he felt for Sofia. He said nothing further, but sat with her as Sara continued to comfort her, until a minute or two later when Sofia finally spoke, and whispered two words into Sara's shirt, barely audible.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Sara replied, holding her close. "You just stay with me, I'll take care of everything."

Sara did take care of everything, and soon found herself at the forefront of psychiatric nursing. She held Sofia for several more minutes until the latter was ready to let go, and after that helped her change. Sofia consented to a fresh pair of jeans and socks, and even let Sara towel-dry her hair, but refused point blank to relinquish her LVPD windbreaker. Sara let it go, spotting fast that the jacket was an object of comfort for her, and was perhaps a connection to her mother, and giving an indicative shake of the head to Grissom she led her instead over to the fire, and bedded her down with the others.

They had set up makeshift beds for them on the couch and floor, and one by one Sara managed to settle them all. She hugged and kissed them one at a time, quelling their anxiety, and was not above telling them that she loved them in order to help them relax and feel protected. Nick and Catherine both needed persuading to put aside their guns, seemingly wanting to fall asleep with them ready in hand, and it was not until Nick did fall asleep that Sara was finally able to slip in and remove it from his grasp, placing it instead on the relative safety of the coffee table.

"You handled that well," Grissom told her, once they had retreated back to the kitchen to let the four sleep.

"Their sense of security is shattered," Sara said, worried.

He nodded. "And a sense of safety is one of the most basic human needs."

"We're going to have to rebuild that. And right now the only thing that's going to help is TLC – letting them know they're loved, that someone cares."

"Then I'll follow your lead."

He gave her a rare look of pure respect, and Sara put a hand on his chest, grateful. She leaned up to kiss him, briefly pecking him on the lips, before they settled in for the long wait. She knew sleep was impossible – that as long as they had no idea what was lurking outside they had no choice but to stay awake, just in case. She was also reluctant to go far in case one of the others woke, knowing they were probably still badly traumatised, and all in all the next few hours passed with torturous slowness. Grissom passed the time by cleaning up, Sara held a vigil in the living room and kitchen, pacing frequently, and in the end it was Catherine who rose first, when it was dark and still a few hours short of dawn.

Sara was ready for it, and was at her side, crouched by the mattress, before Catherine had even fully sat up.

"Hey," she whispered, wary of waking the others. "You okay?"

Catherine took a moment to get her bearings. She rubbed her eyes, pushed back her hair, and looked tiredly to Warrick asleep beside her before she nodded.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

She still sounded weary, and Sara reached straight in to give her a hug.

"Come here – "

"I'm all right," Catherine said, sweetly rubbing Sara's back in return. "I'm okay."

She sounded like she meant it this time and Sara drew away just as Grissom arrived, kneeling down beside her.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Catherine shrugged. "Better. I'll get there."

"You want to talk?" Sara asked.

Catherine nodded, and a moment later they led her through to the kitchen, Grissom pulling out a chair for her at the table.

"Sit down – I'll get you some hot chocolate."

"None for me, thanks," Catherine replied, taking the proffered seat. "You should probably save it – we found no food."

"We can spare it," he ruled.

He busied himself in making it, and Sara sat by Catherine's side, readying herself for whatever came. A moment later he joined them, and pushed the mug in front of her.

"Thanks," Catherine said.

Her fingertips hovered on the handle, hesitating.

"I'm going to assume the others haven't filled you in already," she began.

"You presume correct," Grissom said.

She nodded to herself, but still hesitated.

"Can you tell us?" Sara prompted.

"There's not much to tell," Catherine replied. "I mean I still don't know what happened, something just snapped. In me, in the guys …"

She looked almost apologetic, wary of their judgement, but Sara waved it down. She felt nothing but empathy.

"It's okay," she said.

"Why don't you start at the beginning," Grissom added.

She took a deep breath before ploughing forward.

"Well we found the highway, turned east, found the town a few miles out. It was pretty much the same story as Vegas, only on a smaller scale. The place was trashed, deserted, no food or anything useful. Someone had cleaned the place out before us. It smelled like a sewer. Then the rain came, we left to set up camp, and on the way out Sofia said she saw something."

"Saw what?" Sara asked.

"A person," Catherine replied. "Though she wasn't sure at the time. We shrugged it off, but hiked a few miles further just in case, camped the night somewhere isolated. It all seemed safe. We were all exhausted, wet, but we fell asleep okay. Later I woke, I was cold, shivering, Sofia and Warrick helped me and then Sofia said she had to go to the bathroom."

She paused, regret clouding her features.

"We should've gone with her."

Sara's insides felt as heavy as lead. Her mind quickly connected the statement with Sofia's mental state earlier, and she did not like the picture it drew.

"What happened?" Grissom asked.

Catherine paused, but then pressed on, her eyes closed as though the memory was painful.

"We fouled up," she confessed. "She went outside half naked – just her shirt and panties – she thought we were alone."

"I take it you weren't?" Sara prompted.

"No, we weren't."

She paused, and Sara took her hand. Her hot chocolate was already forgotten.

Catherine took a deep breath before proceeding.

"We were so overconfident, we gambled needlessly. But after a few minutes I realised she'd been gone a while, and I sent Warrick out after her. Then he didn't come back."

Sara was liking the story less every second, but knew she had to see it through. She squeezed her hand.

"Keep going."

"I realised quickly something was wrong. So I woke Nick, grabbed my gun, we went out after them. We found them down in the bushes. She'd done her business – there was a roll of toilet paper on the rock – but they were crouched down, hiding, guns drawn. They were scared. She said she thought she'd heard something. I looked around, and I thought I something move – a branch shifting unnaturally. But there was no wind, just endless rain. So we sent her back to the tent with Nick, told her to get dressed, and Warrick and I went to take a look."

"I'm going to assume it wasn't the weather," Sara guessed.

"There were footprints in the mud," Catherine confessed. "And they were fresh – not ours. And then I found semen on the rocks."

Sara took in a breath, suddenly knowing what had happened.

"He jacked off watching?" she asked.

Catherine nodded sadly. "Sofia was shaken. I mean, understandably. It's not every day some pervert watches you in that position. And then Nick ticked her off about being out there alone – he seemed more disturbed by it than any of us. But I knew they were in no shape to help, so Warrick and I left them safe by some trees, a visible landmark, and then we went to take care of it."

She paused there, and Sara's mind honed in on the phrase. There was a caution now evident in Catherine's eyes.

"Take care of it?" Grissom asked, noticing the same thing.

"This is the part you may not like," Catherine said, meeting his gaze level with her own. "And if you want me to talk any further, I need to know you're on my side."

"We're always on your side," Sara said firmly. "We're all in this together."

"You don't have to talk on if you don't want to," Grissom said, looking suddenly depressed. "I think we can tell what must have happened."

Catherine nodded, and then looked down at the table. She was quiet for several long moments.

"I've never felt so close to Sam in all my life," she said, tears in her eyes. "And he just _stood_ there, his pants and boxers around his ankles, touching himself, looking like he wanted to rape both of us and then go finish off Sofia. And I don't know, something just snapped. It's like nine months of trauma caught up with me – all the anger, the frustration and the pain, and I fired."

"You don't have to apologise," Sara said, shaking her head in disbelief. "You did nothing wrong."

"I killed a man," Catherine retorted.

She looked deeply uncomfortable, and Sara knew that however easy she had found it in the moment, she did not find it easy to deal with now.

"In self-defence," Grissom pointed out.

"I wish I could be that sure," Catherine said quietly.

Sara took a deep breath, and edged her chair closer.

"Catherine you did _nothing_ wrong. If you hadn't have defended her, there's no telling what would have happened. And it's not a risk we can afford to take. What you need to remember is that the rules we used to live by, the moral code of our old lives, no longer holds here. We're living in a world of complete anarchy, without laws, without government, a land where common decency is buried in that graveyard in Vegas. And the _only_ law that holds out here, that we have to live by, is the law of our own conscience. It's about who we love, about trust and loyalty, and you shouldn't ever be sorry for saving someone you love."

"Sara's right," Grissom added. "The first casualty this plague took was law and order. And now the only true law left is the law of nature. It's survival of the fittest. And if we're not fit, both physically and intellectually, we won't survive."

"And we _need_ to survive," Sara said. "We have _not_ come through eight, nine months of hell only to surrender now. What you did may have been an ugly choice – it sucks that it was necessary – but it was still necessary. And if we're going to settle down here and survive, then those choices are ones we need to be prepared to make. I mean, it's true those people have suffered, that they've lived through so much cruelty and pain that they've been degraded beyond all humanity, but our reality is that if they're bent on killing us, on raping us, then we have to be prepared to defend ourselves. This is a warzone. And if we don't stand together, we won't stand at all."

"Are you saying you would've done the same thing?" Catherine asked.

Sara thought about it, and gave the best answer she could.

"I would've defended Sofia."

Catherine looked to Grissom.

"I'd defend any of you," he said, at ease as if he had long considered this a possibility. "And like Sara said, that moment may yet still come. It might come for all of us. But if it does, then I'll go in with a clear conscience, because if there's one thing Sara's ordeal taught me, it's that there is such a thing as too late. And I'd rather get on the front foot and be sure that everyone is safe, than to risk facing that again. I'm reconciled to that."

Catherine nodded, and finally she seemed to relax a little.

"I guess you're right," she said. "United we stand."

"And divided we fall," Grissom finished.

"Well I didn't come this far to give up on Lindsey now," Catherine said. "Otherwise it's all been for nothing."

"It hasn't been for nothing," Sara said. "Like Gil's said, there's been some positives. It's a question of how we look at it. And as much pain as there's been, we still need to look on the bright side, where we can."

Catherine nodded, but she seemed disinterested in thinking about it for the moment, too mentally weary to contemplate it.

Instead she said, "I still don't understand why he followed us. All those miles through the desert …"

"Isn't it obvious?" Grissom said.

Catherine said nothing.

"Two of the most basic human needs are food and sex," he said. "And both are in short supply out here, if you're stuck out there on your own. And I think for someone who's gone through all that, through eighteen months of privation, the sight of you and Sofia, clean and showered, would have been like sighting the promised land."

"You were probably the first beautiful woman he'd seen in months," Sara said. "And I'm not surprised he stalked you halfway across the desert. I know it's painful to hear, but it makes me glad that you were on your guard."

"You saved Sofia," Grissom said. "And you brought everyone back safe. For now, that's all that matters."

"And the short food supply?" Catherine asked. "Our situation?"

"We'll worry about that tomorrow," Grissom said. "For now, just rest. You've earned it."

He nudged the hot chocolate toward her, and while Sara pressed for a few more details, and learned that they had in fact been followed at least part of the way home by an apparent ally of the dead man, she did not pursue the subject in depth. The house was fortified – all the doors and windows locked – and Catherine needed rest. She hugged her and kissed her, reassured her that she had been right, and then led her back to the bed by the fireside for more rest.

For now, that had to be enough.

* * *

_To be honest, I really enjoyed wriitng this chapter. I would really love to know what people think - please feedback. :)_


	22. Chapter 22

The rain stopped, and morning dawned. Sara watched from the kitchen window as the grey clouds rolled out, only for another equally dreary set to roll in. Mother Nature evidently had no intention of letting up in its wintry blast, nor of allowing anything to dry off, and the landscape outside remained grey and waterlogged throughout the morning. A thick fog hovered over the fields, surrounding the house like a fortress, and when Grissom slipped out at dawn to search for their foe, checking they were alone, he returned a few minutes later with the bottom three inches of his jeans soaked with water, damp from walking through the grass.

The house was toasty warm, and after Sara found him some fresh pants they settled themselves back in the kitchen, whiling away the morning in peaceful company. Sara crept in every so often to check on her friends, adjusting the odd blanket and stoking the fire, but more or less let them sleep, and in the end it was midday before the house gradually stirred and yawned its way back into life, and Sara heard the first footsteps approach the kitchen table, where she sat with Grissom.

"Scrabble again?" Catherine greeted.

Sara had indeed been playing Scrabble, having been coaxed by Grissom into helping him fill the lonely hours, and the board lay half completed between them. They had also long relaxed, and Grissom had his feet up on a spare chair, a pair of bright fluffy red socks visible to Catherine's trained eye, but she only smiled to herself as Grissom idly raided the letter bag, unfazed.

"I like the exercise the mind," he covered.

"We're just passing the time," Sara said, more truthfully.

She knew that Scrabble to Grissom was an interest, just as all games were that involved logic or vocabulary, but to Sara it was merely a means to an end, and if anything a way to unwind with those she loved.

She pushed her letter tray aside, and had swung her feet to the floor before Catherine had even stepped into the room, meeting her halfway around the table beside his chair.

"How do you feel?" Sara asked. "Okay?"

She posed the question as she hugged her, taking Catherine's thin frame into her arms, and though she was not surprised when Catherine lied – telling her that she was fine – she saw the real answer in her friend's demeanour. Her hair was ruffled, as though from bad sleep, and despite the fact that her manner was as confident as ever, and her affection genuine, she remained in the hug slightly longer than normal, lingering there a little as Sara rubbed her back, and upon parting her eyes flitted instinctively to the door, passing over the bolt.

Sara had seen that look the previous night, and understood it instantly.

"We're safe," she said, deciding to nip it in the bud. "There's no one out there."

Catherine looked vaguely sceptical.

"I've checked around," Grissom added. "I went out this morning, took a good look, there's nothing out there but puddles and mud – we're safe."

Sara nodded to indicate her agreement; though Grissom had prevented her from accompanying him – flatly refusing her presence due to her pregnancy – she knew his checks had been thorough. He did not take the safety of the team lightly, and he had been gone a good ten minutes before he had trudged back to the house, dripping wet and reporting that they were completely isolated. Sara knew too that if their foe had intended to bother them, it would have happened immediately the previous night – and not after twelve hours the next afternoon.

"Safe," Catherine repeated, evidently stuck on Grissom's word. A doubtful look flashed over her face, as if struck by their naïve innocence. "Are you sure there's any such thing?"

"We're as safe as we can be," Grissom assured.

"We've been awake all night," Sara said. "We're armed, and we've been watching the outside carefully. There's no one about."

"It's silent as a cemetery," Grissom added.

He meant it well, but earned a swift glare for his efforts, Catherine stiffening in an instant.

"Bad analogy," she said.

She looked for a moment like she wanted to roll her eyes, or possibly retreat back to the fire, but Sara rubbed her back, fingers massaging between her shoulder blades, and with a glance to her Catherine softened. Her eyes passed again over the door, and then to the window where the blind rested part way open, and then seeing that Sara had caught the glance, abruptly looked away, her pride damaged.

Sara drew her closer, lowering her voice.

"Cat, I'll say this now before the others get up, but if you're feeling it – after what happened last night – you know that's perfectly okay. It's normal to feel a few shockwaves after something like that. It's okay to feel on edge. I know it's hard to feel safe. Just take it easy, okay?"

"Sara's right," Grissom said, backing her up before Catherine could flee – or launch into stubborn denial which was gathering momentum all over her face. "You've had a scare, just rest for a while. And if you're feeling unsafe, then stay with us. We'll help. We'll protect you."

"I don't need protection," Catherine said, unable to help herself as she fixed them with a steely stare. But under Sara's arm she nevertheless softened, looking embarrassed and grateful all in one. "But thanks."

"You're welcome," Sara said.

"We're a family," Grissom added, matter-of-factly pulling out a chair for her. "We're here for you."

Catherine softened over the next few minutes, relaxing into the coffee that Sara made for her, and by the time she drained the mug there was no trace of bruised pride which had afflicted her only a few moments earlier. She even took over Sara's hand at Scrabble, happily duelling Grissom, and remained there until Warrick emerged, barely ten minutes later and looking distinctly dishevelled.

He had a bad case of pillow hair, and walked with a sore gait as though everything ached – but even more than that was the fact that he largely ignored them all. He rubbed at his eyes, woefully tired, and murmured only a half-hearted greeting as he slipped into a chair beside Catherine. Catherine's hand landed straight on his elbow, and Sara took one look at him before moving to find him a jacket, helping him slip it on comfortingly over his bare arms, and Grissom promptly made him a coffee. It was all they could do until he chose to open up to them, which still seemed a long way off, and though they made queries into his health he replied only that his calf muscles were sore, strained from the "walk from hell" during the night. Catherine's eyes were full of dark understanding, and the two shared something that Sara knew she could only ever guess at, but he seemed grateful nonetheless for the comfort they offered, and when Grissom placed the steaming mug in front of him he muttered a tired "thanks", and even reached to briefly squeeze Sara's hand.

Nick, when he padded in a short while later, was in a similar state. Though he looked equally sore he was a lot more affectionate than Warrick, and enveloped Sara straight in a hug, holding her close. He too, though, seemed to not want to talk about it, and quickly fended off Sara's queries into his health with a comment about the weather, and the blinding fog outside. Indeed, of the three of them, Sara had to quickly accept that the only one who felt even remotely comfortable talking about it was Catherine – who had been coaxed into pouring her heart out the night before – and both the men at least would need more time before they felt comfortable in doing the same.

Sara knew that moment would come – and that Grissom would likely take them aside later to ensure they were okay – and yet as the day progressed the only one who felt directly comfortable in even acknowledging it was Sofia, and even then because she simply had no energy left to deny it.

When she didn't appear for breakfast Sara tiptoed in to check on her, and found her lying awake by the fire. The room was dim – the blinds closed to allow the group to sleep – and Sara let her eyes adjust before she crouched down by the single mattress – the one Grissom had carried down for her hours earlier before they had put her to bed.

She lay now on her back, her blonde hair swept to one side, and she looked away from Sara as Sara settled in beside her, as if sensing what was coming.

"Hey," Sara greeted.

She was extremely gentle, still wary of Sofia's fragile state the night before, and slipped her hand in to hold her friend's, where it lay still atop the blanket.

"Hey," Sofia replied.

Her voice was flat, though Sara felt at least grateful that she was able to talk at all, which was still an improvement on the previous night. Seizing on this quickly, she talked on, settling onto the edge of the mattress.

"How do you feel? You feel okay?"

"I don't know," Sofia replied.

It was the most honest answer she had ever given, and she closed her eyes as she said it, as if overwhelmed by the thousand troubles that Sara saw ripple through her tight expression.

It was all she could do to try and tease them out, before they festered into something more permanent.

"You know," she began, "we had a talk with Catherine last night. She told us everything. And I understand if you'd rather not talk about it, but I just want you to know that we're here for you. We understand."

Sofia watched her for a moment, weighing up the offer.

"You're referring to that man in the desert?" she said. "The one who followed us?"

"I know you had a close encounter with him."

Sofia shook her head, looking strangely at ease.

"That doesn't bother me. He was just some loser who saw an opportunity. I was armed, I was never in any danger. And aside from that, the others came to help."

"All right," Sara said, nodding.

She had to admire her friend's strength – but there were no lies apparent in her relaxed gaze. Apparently she had no doubts that she would have shot him, should the need have come, and it made Sara realise that in Sofia's long career in PD, she had probably faced far worse threats than a pervert lingering in the bushes.

"Honestly, if I went into a spin about every guy that found me attractive, I wouldn't have lasted five minutes in PD," Sofia went on, fixing Sara with a frank look. "You know that feeling as well as I do."

"I do," Sara agreed.

She knew full well what it was like to work in a testosterone-charged environment, and it took some getting used to.

"Then it's something else?" she went on. "You feel exhausted? Tired from all this …"

Sofia was nodding.

"Yeah."

She paused a little, then elaborated, gazing back up at the ceiling.

"I guess I just miss my family."

It was a quiet admission, and not one which Sofia seemed entirely comfortable with giving, but there was a wistful, suffering look on her face that told Sara it was the truth. Sara held her hand tighter, wishing she could help and yet not knowing how. She had known for months that all her friends were suffering from the absence of their families – not least of all Nick and Catherine, who took it deeply to heart – but the group seemed to dance around ever mentioning it, as if sensing that to express their own feelings would only aggravate similar pain in the others – pain which they were all trying to ignore.

It had only been a matter of time before it all bubbled to the surface, and she could not blame Sofia for feeling what she did.

"It's okay to miss your family," Sara said. "I know the others feel the same."

"Don't you?" Sofia queried, catching the omission.

Sara swallowed, and feeling suddenly in the spotlight, and struggled to stifle her feelings. She fought hard not to let on, to not talk about the history she had no strength to talk about, lest she should disintegrate altogether.

"My family's here," she answered. "You guys are my family."

A part of Sofia looked touched, and yet greater than that was the sympathy and deep concern which suddenly swamped her features, sensing something was there.

Sara gave a small shake of the head, hoping strongly that she wouldn't ask.

"Look, Sofia, I know you want to ask, and I have no objection to you knowing, but if you're going to, I'd rather you ask Gil. It's not something I like to talk about."

"All right," Sofia said.

Her reply was so firm and emphatic that Sara knew she sensed something there, and had an inkling of what lay beneath. Her blue eyes were focused on her with a searching concern, and it even prompted her to sit up, pushing back the blanket and shifting over to face her.

"You know that we consider you family too," Sofia said, holding both her hands and looking firmly into her eyes – so firmly that Sara felt Sofia could see through to her soul. "You always have us, and whatever happens out here, we'll face it together."

Her eyes dipped to Sara's abdomen, and Sara took a breath, nodding. She did not even feel ready to think about the prospect of childbirth yet – or all that lay beyond – right now she could only deal with one day at a time.

"We'll be fine," she said. "Just take it easy, okay?"

As she walked away and left Sofia to dress she found herself wondering how it had all happened. She had never intended to even hint at her past – in eight months of living with her friends it had never come up, and yet she also considered in hindsight that it had been bound to happen sometime. It was only a matter of time before one of them asked about her family, and why she neglected to ever mention them. Yet the strangest thing of all was how the admission seemed to inadvertently help Sofia. Sara had not intended to even talk about it, let alone have it help her, but oddly enough it seemed to distract Sofia from her own world of troubles, almost as if she was so concerned about Sara that all her old instincts kicked into gear, and she stepped up to staunchly protect her.

It was touching in its own way – she knew that Sofia considered herself primarily responsible for the safety of the team, as the only one among them who was formally trained by PD – and after disappearing for a brief hot shower upstairs she descended to the kitchen with a renewed strength in her eyes, as if she had shaken off all traces of the night before. She hugged and kissed Nick, and shared a quick peck on the lips with Catherine, and after that focused her energies on leading the group in an annoying surge of protection against Sara. She queried Sara about what she'd eaten in the last few hours – and, swiftly arousing the same protective instincts in both Nick and Warrick – led them to question the fact that she'd dashed out there the night before in the first place.

"You're kidding, right?" Sara said, when Nick voiced his concern.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't have been out there," he said, tone controlled and gentle, "only that if it happens again – if we ever face anything like that – you let us handle it, okay? It's not just you we need to think about here."

His eyes dipped to her abdomen, and wishing she could forcibly remove them, Sara shook her head, staring him down.

"I'm aware I'm pregnant," she said firmly. "Thank you."

"Well good," Nick said. "Because if you don't look after yourself, we're going to start doing it for you, okay? We care about you far too much to just sit back and let anything happen."

She knew he was trying to be kind, and it was this fact alone which stopped her from retorting, and putting him firmly in his place. But his eyes were kind, and his hand on her arm gentle, and instead she found herself nodding, and forced a smile.

But the smile was short-lived. After being on her feet for over twenty-four hours she felt tired, and as she stood there she felt her muscles respond, longing for rest. She was fatigued, and felt a headache coming on.

"You okay?" Warrick asked, spotting it. "You know if you want to get some rest, that's okay. We'll hold the fort."

"I'm fine," she insisted.

She put a hand on his arm to thank him and wandered off, drifting into the living room to clear the mess from the night. Blankets and pillows were strewn everywhere, and she considered that now was as good a time as any to start cleaning them up.

It was completely unintentional that she overhead their next conversation, traded in soft whispers in the kitchen around the corner.

"Man, she looks _beat_," Warrick said.

"What do you expect?" Catherine asked. "She's been up all night taking care of us."

"I don't know we should have done that to her, you know?" Nick said. "Us all coming in, lobbing all that onto her shoulders, it can't be helping things."

"We weren't in much of a state to do much else," Sofia said, realistically.

"I know. I just wish it hadn't happened."

"You couldn't have kept her away if you'd tried," Grissom said. "When you yelled for help and came running down she was gone – she would have wrestled your stalker to the ground single-handedly if she'd had to."

"Thank God it wasn't necessary," Catherine said.

"Well she saved all our lives in any case," Warrick said. "We owe her for that. Let's not repay her by throwing four lots of PTSD onto her shoulders. She needs to look after herself as well."

"You can't stop her caring," Grissom said. "She loves you all, and if she senses you need help, she'll give it."

"We care for her too. But she's in a fragile state – I don't think she even realises how fragile."

"She's only physically fragile," Catherine said. "Mentally, she's healthy."

"Well, either way," Nick said. "I'm with Warrick – let's just minimise the burden on her, okay? We don't want to make things worse for the baby."

"The best thing we can do right now is replenish supplies. Get a square meal into her. But getting hold of that's not going to be easy, and it's probably not a conversation for today."

"No, it's not," Grissom ruled. "For now, I just want everyone to rest. Take some time out, put your feet up, let yourselves heal a little. And remember I'm here if you need to talk. We can talk strategy in the morning."

"Agreed," Warrick said.

Sara was not surprised that they kept the conversation from her – for obvious reasons – and it seemed diplomatic to pretend she hadn't heard it. When Grissom came in a few seconds later to help her clean up, she showed no sign of having heard it, and the others volunteered nothing. Nevertheless it made for a depressing afternoon, the mood exhausted and sombre, and despite the day of rest things did little to pick up.

Warrick and Catherine seemed to be mutually tired and down, and retreated for a private hour upstairs a short while later, closing a bedroom door behind them. Sara understood their desire to be alone, and resolved to give them the space they needed to cuddle and replenish their sanity. Nick and Sofia were similarly affected, and seemed to just want to be near each other, and to that end they remained attached to each other for most of the afternoon. Sofia sat in his lap on the couch, and Nick obligingly held her, seeming relieved to merely have her back in his arms in one piece.

Grissom and Sara shared a game with them for a while, but when Sara began yawning and rubbing her eyes Grissom ruled it was time out, and laid a hand on her back to escort her upstairs, insisting she take a nap.

"You need rest," he said, sitting her on the edge of the mattress while he straightened the pillow. "You've been up far too long, you need a break."

"We can't leave the others," Sara said. "They're in a state …"

"I'll take care of them. _You_ need sleep."

Sara did not argue. Already she felt herself sinking into the mattress, and doubted she could even stand up again, even if she chose to. Catherine had warned her that fatigue was a symptom of pregnancy, and Sara had suffered from it chronically since falling pregnant. Standing guard throughout the night fretting over her friends had not helped things.

"Hmmm," she said.

"_In_," Grissom urged.

He manoeuvred her legs up onto the bed, and brought the blankets back over her, tucking her in snug and warm.

Sara felt her eyes close. She felt ready for sleep, though her headache still bothered her, and there was a slight discomfort in her stomach.

"You coming?" she murmured.

"In a little while," he said. "I'll just make sure the others are okay."

His lips brushed her forehead, and Sara already felt herself drifting.

"I'll be in soon," he whispered.

She heard a door close, footsteps retreat quietly down the hallway, and then silence fell.

Only hours later, she fell sick.

* * *

_This chapter took so long to write, it was unbelievable. I don't know why I had such a mega writing block with it. But moving on now ... a little more action on the way!_

_Hope you're still with me and would love feedback ... Anna. :)_


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